GASTON  OLAF 
HENRY    OYEN 


OP  CAT-IT.    TJBPAtfY.    LOS  ANGSTS 


GASTON  OLAF 


BY 

HENRY  OYEN 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  MAN-TRAIL,"  "THE  SNOW-BURNER," 
ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1917, 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  I9l6,  BY  THE  RIDGWAY  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  GASTON  OLAF  COMES  TO  HAVENS  FALLS     .     .  9 

II.  A  CHALLENGE 15 

III.  THE  GIRL  WITH  THE  BROWN  EYES      ....  23 

IV.  THE  TAMING  OF  RED  SHIRT 28 

V.  DEVIL  DAVE  TAGGART 35 

VI.  BROWN  EYES  CAN  BE  COLD 44 

VII.  A  MAN'S  SIZE  JOB 50 

VIII.  A  CROOKED  TRAIL 56 

IX.  "NOT  A  WHITE  MAN'S  OUTFIT" 66 

X.  DEVIL  DAVE  AT  PLAY 73 

XI.  GASTON  BEGINS  TO  THINK 80 

XII.  TAGGART'S  MAN  No  LONGER 86 

XIII.  THE  CROOK  TRAIL  EXPOSED 91 

XIV.  TAGGART'S  SYSTEM 97 

XV.  GASTON  HAS  A  SCHEME 104 

XVI.  TOM  PINE  is  PUZZLED 109 

XVII.  "FOR  ROSE  HAVENS" 115 

XVIII.  THE  SPRING  BREAK-UP 120 

XIX.  THE  TRAP 127 

XX.  How  TAGGART  LOST  THE  DRIVE 132 

XXI.  "You  CAN'T  LIVE  HERE  AFTER  THIS"    .     .     .  140 

XXII.  TWENTY-FIVE  THOUSAND — CASH 149 

XXIII.  THE  MONEY  SAVED 156 

XXIV.  A  FRESH  START 162 

XXV.  GASTON'S  DREAM 168 

XXVI.  THE  FIRST  MARSHAL  OF  HAVENS  FALLS  .     .     .  176 

5 


2131813 


6 

CHAPTER 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 

XXXVIII. 

XXXIX. 

XL. 

XLI. 

XLII. 


Contents 


TAGGART'S  CHANCE 183 

SATURDAY  NIGHT 189 

A  FIGHT 197 

THE  COMING  OF  LAW  AND  ORDER       ....  206 

TAGGART'S  DEFIANCE 211 

THE  POWER  OF  WOMAN 216 

BATTLE 224 

G ASTON  BUYS  STORE  CLOTHES 232 

A  QUIET  SUNDAY 238 

SETTLING  DOWN 243 

A  STORM  BREWING 247 

"WAIT,  GASTON!" 256 

TAGGART  STRIKES 264 

THE  END  OF  DEVIL  DAVE 272 

DAYS  OF  QUIET 281 

"THE  TRAIL,  THE  TRAIL!" 288 


GASTON  OLAF 


GASTON  OLAF 

CHAPTER  I 

GASTON   OLAF    COMES   TO    HAVENS   FALLS 

GASTON  OLAF  FRANCOIS  THORSON,  to 
give  him  at  once  his  full,  complicated  name, 
raced  with  easy  strides  of  his  long  skis  to  the  crest  of 
the  ridge  and  stood  for  a  moment  against  the  sky-line, 
looking  down  upon  the  new  woods  settlement  known 
as  Havens  Falls. 

From  the  tips  of  his  rubber-shod  feet,  resting  lightly 
on  his  skis,  to  the  short  bronze  curls  which  flamed  be- 
neath his  muskrat  cap,  the  six-foot-two  of  Gaston  Olaf 
was  alive  to  the  point  of  bursting.  Though  the  late 
Winter  morning  was  raw  and  cold,  he  wore  no  mack- 
inaw.  His  blue-flannel  shirt,  stretching  taut  across  the 
swell  of  his  chest,  was  open  wide  at  the  top.  Cloth 
and  buttons  were  not  made  to  confine  the  brown, 
corded  neck  that  rose  like  a  column  above  it. 

Around  his  waist  was  wound  a  silken  sash  of  bright- 
est red ;  his  trousers  were  of  softest  buckskin,  fringed 
Indian  fashion.  But  it  was  the  size,  the  build  and  the 
reckless  bearing  of  him  that  would  attract  attention. 
Standing  with  lifted  chin  there  on  top  of  the  ridge, 
with  the  wind  whistling  shrilly  past  him,  he  was  blood- 
brother  to  the  rough  outdoors  about  him,  as  big,  as 
free,  ay,  and  as  lawless.  His  grace  and  elegance  of 
form,  so  rare  in  a  big  man,  Gaston  had  from  his 

9 


io  Gaston  Olaf 

French  mother,  and  his  huge-boned  viking's  body  had 
come  to  him  from  a  giant  Norse  sire.  Withal  he  was 
an  American,  born  and  reared,  and  some  of  his  reputa- 
tion for  lawlessness  had  been  made  at  the  expense  of 
men  who  questioned  his  nationality. 

It  was  his  first  sight  of  Havens  Falls.  As  he  leaned 
forward  against  the  ski-straps,  peering  down  at  the 
single  street  of  the  settlement,  his  bright  blue  eyes 
snapped  with  excitement  and  a  boyish  grin  of  reck- 
less anticipation  creased  his  young,  bronzed  face. 

"There  she  is,  Tom  Pine!  There's  our  town!"  he 
cried.  "Stores,  sidewalks,  houses,  and  men  and — 
women !" 

To  the  world  in  general,  and  to  the  little  clump  of 
buildings  below  in  particular,  he  threw  a  careless  kiss. 

"Men  and  women,  Tom  Pine.  Strong  men  to  fight 
with ;  pretty  women  to  laugh  with.  What  more  can  a 
man  ask  Life  to  give  him?" 

Tom  Pine,  grizzled  of  hair,  short  of  stature,  but 
uncannily  broad  of  shoulder  and  long  of  arm,  drew 
himself  up  beside  his  young  partner,  carefully  belting 
his  mackinaw  against  the  morning  wind.  In  years  it 
was  obvious  that  Tom  Pine  was  twice  the  age  of  Gas- 
ton,  but  the  twinkle  in  his  bright,  outdoor  eyes  told 
that  at  heart  he  was  just  as  young. 

The  settlement  lay  at  their  feet  in  its  snug  site  on  a 
bend  in  the  La  Croix  River.  From  where  they  stood 
they  could  look  down  upon  each  building  in  the  place 
and  tell  by  its  appearance  for  what  each  one  stood. 
Most  of  the  buildings  were  gathered  together  at  the 
foot  of  the  ridge,  directly  below  where  they  stood. 
There  stood  the  post-office,  the  hotel,  stores  and  dwell- 
ing-houses. Farther  down  there  was  a  gap  on  the 
street,  and  at  its  lower  end,  running  down  to  the  river 
front,  the  street  was  builded  solid  on  both  sides ;  each 
building  obviously  was  a  saloon — or  worse.  Havens 


Comes  to  Havens  Falls  II 

Falls  was  new,  but  already  it  had  established  standards, 
distinctions. 

"Yep — a  town,"  agreed  Tom  Pine  curtly.  "See  how 
they  keep  the  black  sheep  and  the  white  separate. 
That's  towns;  that's  civilisation.  I  don't  like  towns, 
Gaston  Olaf.  I  don't  feel  safe  in  'em.  In  towns  you 
got  to  sleep  in  rooms,  with  four  walls  around  you, 
and  a  roof  close  above  you  to  shut  out  the  sky.  Peo- 
ple settle  down  in  towns.  Gaston  Olaf,  I'm  always 
afraid  that  you'n  me' 11  go  to  a  town  some  time  and — 
settle  down !" 

Gaston's  laugh,  a  rollicking,  hair-trigger  laugh,  rang 
out  over  the  bare  ridge. 

"Towns  are  good  places  to  come  to  once  in  a  while, 
Tom  Pine,"  said  he.  "Have  we  ever  stayed  in  a  town 
long  enough  to  hurt  us?" 

"Not  yet.  I  admit  you  that,  Gaston  Olaf.  And  I 
ain't  saying  towns  ain't  got  their  uses,  to  have  a  time 
in,  and  buy  chuck  and  cartridges  in.  And  I  ain't  say- 
ing we  wasn't  due  for  a  little  trip  after  being  in  camp 
six  solid  months  to  prove  up  those  timber  claims,  which 
is  too  long  for  any  man  living  to  stay  in  one  spot. 
But" — he  shook  his  head  slowly — "I  don't  like  the 
feel  of  this  trip  for  sour  apples.  I  got  an  Indian  feel- 
ing, Gaston  Olaf.  I'm  afraid  something's  going  to 
happen  here." 

Gaston  Olaf,  as  Tom  Pine  addressed  him,  looked  re- 
proachfully at  his  companion. 

"Tom  Pine,  how  long  have  we  been  partners?"  he 
demanded. 

"Years,"  Torn  nodded.     "Go  on;  I'm  listening." 

"And  did  you  ever  know  me  to  go  to  a  town  without 
making  something  happen  ?" 

"Oh,  that.  Of  course.  Man's  got  to  kick  up  his 
hind  heels  a  little  when  he  hits  a  town.  But  this — this 
ain't  that,  Gaston  Olaf ;  no,  it  ain't." 


12  Gaston  Olaf 

"Not  that?  Hahf  I've  got  it,  Tom  Pine.  It's  be- 
cause of  the  word  this  man  Taggart  sent  us — word 
there  was  good  money  here  for  us  any  time  we  wanted 
to  work.  And  you're  afraid  we'll  take  a  job." 

"No.  'Tain't  that,  either.  I  ain't  scared  of  work, 
once  in  a  while ;  you  know  that,  Gaston  Olaf.  This — 
this  is  a  reg'lar  old  Indian  feeling,  Gaston  Olaf.  I  got 
a  feeling  that  something  different  is  going  to  happen 
here:  I  don't  know  what,  but — something  different." 

"  'Something  different' !"  Gaston  had  settled  his 
feet  into  the  straps  for  the  run  down  the  hill.  "Let's 
hope  so,  Tom  Pine.  Let's  hope  and  pray  you're  a  good 
prophet.  That's  what  we're  looking  for — something 
different.  That's  what  makes  life  worth  living.  So 
come  on;  let's  see — Hello!" 

From  the  lower  end  of  the  street  came  floating  up 
to  them  the  echoes  of  a  drunken  roar.  Half  a  dozen 
men  had  come  tumbling  out  of  one  of  the  saloons, 
laughing,  singing,  cursing,  hallooing  wildly.  Locking 
arms  they  came  surging  up  the  street,  announcing 
loudly  that  they  were  bad  men,  and  spread  themselves 
in  a  rude  semi-circle  before  the  door  of  the  post-office, 
directly  below  where  Gaston  and  Tom  Pine  stood. 

Gaston's  smile  of  anticipation  grew  broader,  his  eyes 
brighter. 

"Strong  men  to  fight  with,  Tom  Pine,"  he  said  with 
a  wink. 

"Yes ;  and  pretty  women  to — look  at  the  pups !" 

Out  of  the  post-office  came  a  woman.  Even  from 
the  top  of  the  ridge  Gaston  could  see  that  she  was 
small,  that  she  was  young  and  trig  and  neat,  and  that 
she  tripped  lightly  down  the  snow-covered  steps  on 
tiny  feet. 

Many  things  happened  in  the  next  few  seconds.  The 
girl  turned  to  go  her  way,  and  five  of  the  men,  holding 
hands,  barred  her  progress.  The  sixth,  a  big  man  in 


Comes  to  Havens  Falls  13 

a  flaming  red  shirt,  stepped  forward  and  attempted  to 
take  the  girl  by  the  arm. 

Other  things  happened  instantly  upon  this.  As  the 
girl  shrank  back  a  smallish,  stockily  built  man  ran  bare- 
headed out  of  a  store  across  the  street,  fought  his  way 
through  the  crowd  and  hurled  himself  upon  the  girl's 
tormentor.  The  man  in  the  red  shirt  gave  a  bellow 
of  rage  as  the  small  man  staggered  him  with  a  blow 
on  the  jaw.  For  a  moment,  so  determined  was  he,  it 
seemed  that  the  newcomer  would  triumph.  Then  the 
gang  bore  him  down.  From  the  hotel  now  came  flying 
the  splendid  figure  of  a  young  girl,  whose  size  and 
blondness  shouted  her  Scandinavian  breed  even  from 
afar. 

The  big  man  had  slipped  an  arm  about  his  victim. 
The  crack  of  the  blond  Amazon's  hand  on  his  cheek 
caused  him  to  relinquish  his  hold  with  one  hand  and 
knock  her  into  the  street.  Then  he  laughed  and  drew 
the  small  girl  toward  him.  But  Fate,  busy,  inevitable 
Fate,  was  sending  intervention  on  wings  of  speed. 

Gaston  Olaf  was  half-way  down  the  ridge.  Never 
did  Gaston  fail  in  the  spectacular.  He  had  started  the 
moment  the  big  man  caught  the  girl  by  the  arm.  The 
snow  on  the  ridge  was  frozen  and  he  came  at  express- 
train  speed,  silently,  unsuspected  by  those  below. 

Deliberately  he  steered  his  course  for  a  boulder  near 
the  foot  of  the  hill.  Using  the  boulder  as  a  take-off, 
he  leaped.  Upward  and  outward  he  flew  through  the 
air,  standing  up  taut  and  straight,  arms  stretched  above 
his  head,  the  air-splitting  ski- jumper  at  his  best. 

His  leap  was  well-timed.  He  landed  squarely  on 
the  big  man  as  he  bent  over  to  kiss  the  struggling  girl 
and  flattened  him  into  the  snow  beneath  his  skis. 

"One  down!"  sang  Gaston. 

His  terrific  momentum  hurtled  him  on,  head  over 
heels,  through  the  air,  straight  into  the  midst  of  the 


14  Gaston  Olaf 

five  men  who  had  the  small  man  down.  Before  they 
could  move  he  struck  them,  a  two-hundred-and-twenty- 
pound  bullet  of  bone  and  gristle,  flying  at  the  rate  of 
thirty  miles  an  hour. 

One  instant  the  five  were  on  their  victim,  like  bears 
upon  a  fallen  wildcat.  The  next  the  group  of  them 
had  split,  as  if  from  an  explosion,  into  five  separate 
and  distinct  parts,  each  part  flying  energetically,  but 
helpless  in  its  own  distinct  and  separate  direction. 

"Gangway,  please,  gangway!" 

Tom  Pine,  coursing  neatly  in  Gaston's  tracks,  found 
it  inconvenient  to  check  himself  until  he  had  taken  a 
jump  off  the  red-shirted  man's  prostrate  form,  and 
landed  full  weight  on  a  pair  of  the  men  whom  Gaston 
had  knocked  into  the  street. 

Gaston  and  Tom  Pine,  snow-covered  and  torn,  the 
skis  broken  to  stumps  on  their  feet,  brought  up  sitting, 
side  by  side,  in  the  snow.  Solemnly  they  reached  out ; 
solemnly  they  shook  hands. 

"Tom  Pine,  my  chapeau  is  off  to  you,"  said  Gaston. 
"You  are  big  medicine  as  a  prophet.  'Something  dif- 
ferent,' you  said.  'Something  different'  was  right. 
Never — never  have  we  hit  a  town  in  this  fashion !" 

But  Tom  Pine  shook  his  head,  mournfully  studying 
the  wrecks  of  his  skis. 

"I'm  worried  some  more,  Gaston  Olaf,"  said  he.  "I 
believe  in  signs  and,  you  see,  we — broke  our  skis !" 


G ASTON  OLAF  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  laugh, 
kicking  his  feet  loose  from  the  useless  stumps. 
He  was  happy ;  for  the  spectacular  and  dramatic  were 
dear  to  the  French  half  of  his  nature. 

The  little  man  who  had  come  so  gallantly  and 
futilely  to  the  girl's  rescue  lay  still  in  the  snow,  with 
his  left  arm  bent  back  in  unpleasant  fashion.  Gaston 
gave  him  scarcely  a  glance.  What  was  a  man  more 
or  less !  Men  were  plentiful.  Men  lying  still  after  a 
fight  were  no  novelty  to  Gaston.  Smallish,  bareheaded 
men — men  who  lived  in  towns  and  ran  stores — must 
expect  to  get  knocked  out  if  they  tried  to  interfere  with 
boys  when  they  were  having  their  fun.  But  a  woman, 
a  young  woman,  and  trig  and  neat,  who  tripped  lightly 
on  tiny  feet,  in  distress ! 

Gaston  swung  around  upon  her,  his  most  winning 
smile  upon  his  lips,  his  lightest  words  upon  the  tip  of 
his  tongue.  And  as  he  faced  her  a  sudden  change 
came  upon  him. 

The  words  did  not  come.  The  smile  lost  much  of 
its  assurance. 

Gaston  stood  stock-still  and  stared.  He  removed 
his  cap  and  bowed  with  the  grace  that  he  had  from  his 
French  mother.  But  the  words,  the  light,  pleasant 
words,  which  hitherto  always  had  risen  to  his  tongue 
like  a  golden  stream  under  the  inspiration  of  a  woman's 
eyes,  were  not  forthcoming. 

The  girl  was  small,  as  he  had  judged  from  the  top 

15 


16  Gaston  Olaf 

of  the  hill.  To  Gaston  she  seemed  wonderfully  small 
and  delicate  in  those  rough  surroundings.  Above  her 
close-buttoned  mackinaw  her  face  seemed  to  Gaston 
to  rise  like  a  frail  lily.  She  was  deadly  pale,  and  her 
wide-set  eyes  were  rilled  with  terror.  Brown  eyes  they 
were,  wonderful  brown  eyes.  But  at  each  side  of  her 
cheeks  a  tiny  ridge  of  muscle  showed  how  firmly  set 
was  her  jaw,  while  her  mouth  was  pursed  in  a  firm 
line  of  determination.  And,  what  made  Gaston 
tongue-tied,  she  was  not  looking  at  him. 

"Oh,  you  cowards!"  she  cried,  and  the  five  men, 
rising  drunkenly  to  their  feet  out  in  the  street,  cowered 
under  the  lash  of  womanly  scorn  and  anger  in  her 
voice.  "You  miserable  specimens  of  manhood!  Call 
yourselves  men!  Five  of  you  on  one  man,  and  you 
struck  him  when  he  was  down!" 

The  men  in  the  street  looked  guiltily  at  the  still 
figure  in  the  snow  and  began  to  slink  away. 

"Yes,  see  what  you've  done  now!"  cried  the  girl. 
"Isn't  it  a  fine,  brave  thing  to  have  done!  Brave, 
strong  men!  Aren't  you  proud  of  your  work!  I 
should  think  you  would  hang  your  heads  in  shame. 
Oh,  you  cowardly  brutes !  You  may  have  killed  him." 

A  laugh,  bull-throated  and  unabashed,  sounded  be- 
hind her.  The  man  on  whom  Gaston  had  jumped  was 
on  his  feet,  miraculously  unhurt.  He  was  a  big  man, 
tall  and  broad,  but  flabby  and  gross  from  dissipation. 

"Fun,  little  girl,  just  fun!"  he  laughed.  "Nobody 
killed;  just  put  out  of  business  for  a  minute,  sweet- 
heart. Boys  will  be  boys.  Now  we're  going  to  have 
out  li'l  kiss,  and  then  the  big  bum  who  jumped 
me " 

"Yes?"  said  Gaston  Olaf. 

The  big  man  stopped.  Gaston  Olaf  was  standing 
before  him,  his  hands  resting  carelessly  on  his  hips,  his 
head  thrown  back,  lips  smiling,  eyes  happy.  Gaston 


A  Challenge  17 

ever  insisted  that  he  was  not  an  especially  courageous 
man,  for,  as  he  explained,  when  a  fight  was  in  prospect, 
the  Berserk  strain  that  he  had  from  his  Norse  father 
always  asserted  itself,  and  a  glow  of  contentment 
spread  over  him,  while  strange,  cheerful  music 
hummed  in  his  ears. 

Red  Shirt's  face  was  convulsed  with  the  sudden,  un- 
reasoning rage  of  the  powerful  brute,  crossed  and  de- 
fied, and  mad  with  the  desire  to  destroy. 

"You— you " 

His  teeth  gritted  furiously  as  he  lowered  his  bull- 
like  head  f OK.  the  rush. 

"My  name,"  laughed  Gaston  happily,  "is  Gaston 
Olaf  Frangois  Thorson.  But  I'm  American;  don't 
you  forget  that.  I  jumped  on  you.  I  rubbed  your 
nose  in  the  dirt.  I  am  a  better  man  than  you  are. 
You  are  a  big  bum !  You  are — "  he  searched  his  fairly 
full  vocabulary  for  the  phrase  most  hated  along  the 
river — "you  are  a  high-banker  and  afraid  of  white 
water." 

Red  Shirt  looked  at  him.  The  rush  did  not  ma- 
terialise. Gaston  Olaf  merely  stood  as  he  was,  his 
hands  on  his  hips,  his  lips  smiling.  But  Red  Shirt 
looked  above  and  saw  his  eyes. 

"You  are  going  away  from  here  in  about  two  sec- 
onds," continued  Gaston  pleasantly.  "You  are  going 
to  take  your  ugly  mug  out  of  this  young  lady's  sight. 
If  you  were  fit  to  speak  to  her  I  would  make  you 
apologise.  Now — get  ready  to  hike!" 

Red  Shirt  looked  around.  Men  were  coming  out 
of  near-by  buildings.  In  the  door  of  the  post-office 
stood  an  old  man,  the  postmaster,  in  G.  A.  R.  blue, 
with  a  shotgun  in  his  trembling  hands.  Red  Shirt's 
lip  lifted  in  a  sneer. 

"You're  safe  here,  Mr.  Gasbag  Thorson,"  he 
growled.  "I've  heard  of  you.  You  play  at  being  a 


i8  Gaston  Olaf 

bad  man.  But  you  wouldn't  dast  try  this  down  at  the 
other  end  of  the  street." 

The  devil  flamed  up  in  Gaston.  Many  men  had 
played  with  his  odd  name.  Few  but  had  regretted  it. 
Tom  Pine  saw  by  the  play  of  cords  in  his  neck  how 
Gaston  was  holding  himself  in. 

"Perhaps  not,"  he  said  quietly  enough.  "Perhaps 
I  would  not  dare  to  try  it  down  there.  But  in  case  I 
do,  who  should  I  ask  for,  please?" 

A  grin  of  contempt  split  the  other's  evil  face. 

"My  name  is  'Red  Shirt'  Murphy,"  he  snarled  as  he 
turned  away.  "Ask  anybody  in  Jack  MacCarthy's 
where  I  hang  out." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Red  Shirt  Murphy.  We  shall  see. 
And  now — travel !" 

Gaston  Olaf  bowed  mockingly  as  Red  Shirt  slouched 
away,  and  swung  around  again  to  speak  to  the  girl. 
As  a  matter  of  course  he  knew  that  he  had  performed 
a  gallant  and  striking  action ;  that  for  the  time  being 
he  was  a  heroic  figure.  He  had  played  the  role  of 
Boss  Man  often  in  his  varied  career,  and  he  knew  full 
well  the  light  in  woman's  eyes  that  is  the  hero's  due. 
Therefore  he  was  shocked  when  he  turned  around  and 
found  himself  still  apparently  forgotten. 

The  girl  was  down  on  her  knees  in  the  snow  beside 
the  man  in  the  street.  She  had  lifted  his  head  and  was 
holding  it  up  in  the  hollow  of  her  arm,  while  with  a 
tiny  handkerchief  she  wiped  the  blood  from  the  cruelly 
beaten  face. 

The  terror  of  the  moment  before,  when  she  had 
escaped  from  the  brutal  Murphy,  the  relief  that  had 
come  with  Gaston's  arrival,  the  rage  that  had  pinched 
her  mouth  as  she  scolded,  all  were  wiped  clean  from 
her  face,  leaving  no  trace.  In  their  place  had  come  a 
look  of  tenderness,  alarm,  solicitude,  and  at  the  sight 
of  it  Gaston  Olaf  thrilled  in  a  manner  that  had  never 


A  Challenge  19 

come  to  him  in  a  life  full  of  thrills.  This  was  some- 
thing new,  and  he  suddenly  hungered  for  something — 
he  knew  not  what — which  his  hard  life  had  denied  him. 
Jealousy  shot  instinctively  into  his  soul  as  he  looked 
down  at  her,  the  instinctive  jealousy  of  the  strong  male 
beholding  feminine  tenderness  lavished  on  another 
man.  And  instinctively  he  fought  it  back  in  shame, 
as  a  feeling  too  small,  too  unsportsmanlike  to  have 
room  in  his  nature.  Nevertheless,  the  feeling  had  been 
there  and  it  left  its  mark. 

"Oh,  the  brutes,  the  brutes !  I  believe  they've  killed 
him!"  the  girl  was  sobbing.  "Mr.  Hale,  Dick!  He 
doesn't  move.  Oh,  Hulda,  Hulda !  Run  anH  tell  your 
mother — quick!  She'll  know  what  to  do.  And  some- 
body get  Dr.  Sanders." 

The  yellow-haired  Amazon  had  risen  from  the  snow 
and  stood,  arms  akimbo,  looking  down  at  girl  and  man, 
undisturbed,  unhurried  by  the  scene. 

"No;  he  en't  dead,  Miss  Havens,"  she  said  quietly. 
"He  err  yoost  knock'  out.  I  seen  lots  o'  dem  fool 
man  like  dat.  Dey're  alvays  fighting,  deh  big  fools. 
Here  come  my  mooder  now.  I  go  tell  deh  doctor." 

Out  of  the  hotel  whence  Hulda  had  come — a  frame 
building  bearing  a  sign  "Olson's  Hotel" — came  wad- 
dling a  smiling  old  woman  as  broad  as  Hulda  was  tall, 
as  white  of  hair  as  Hulda  was  yellow. 

"Good  heavens !  It's  Mester  Hale !"  she  cried  as  she 
bustled  up.  "And  you,  Miss  Havens!  You  shouldn't 
do  dat.  You  got  blood  on  your  vaist,  and  you  catch 
cold  on  your  lags  if  you  don't  gat  up  right  dis  minute. 
Hare,  you  big  man."  She  nodded  to  Gaston  as  if  he 
were  only  a  big  boy.  "And  you,  liddle  man."  She  in- 
dicated Tom  Pine.  "Vat  you  standing  dare  for?  You 
pick  him  up  and  carry  him  in.  We  tak'  care  of  him, 
Miss  Havens.  I  tenk  his  arm  err  brok',  oil  right." 

As  she  talked  she  drew  the  girl  up  from  the  snow 


2O  Gaston  Olaf 

and  waved  a  commanding  hand  to  Gaston  and  Tom 
Pine.  Gaston  pushed  Tom  away  and,  stooping  low, 
thrust  his  long  arms  through  the  snow  beneath  the 
prostrate  form.  Then  he  stood  up,  bearing  the  weight 
of  the  sturdily  built  man  on  his  arms,  as  a  woman 
might  bear  a  child. 

"Where  to,  mother?"  he  said.  "You're  the  Boss 
Man  around  here.  Why  didn't  you  come  out  in  the 
first  place?  One  look  at  that  gang  and  you'd  saved 
this  lad  rough  handling." 

Mrs.  Olson's  broad  face  grew  broader  still  in  a  grin 
of  delight;  but  Gaston  saw  that  the  girl  whom  the 
women  called  Miss  Havens  only  held  up  the  little  man's 
broken  arm. 

"Yass,  yass.  It's  good  to  have  strong  men  around 
some  time,"  said  Mrs.  Olson.  "Come  now;  follow 
me." 

She  led  the  way  into  the  hotel,  to  a  comfortably 
fitted  room  on  the  second  floor.  The  movement  has- 
tened Hale's  returning  consciousness  and  as  Gaston 
moved  toward  the  bed  he  opened  his  eyes.  No  groan 
came  from  his  lips,  though  the  broken  bones  in  his 
arm  grated  as  they  laid  him  down.  He  looked  quietly 
around,  noted  that  Miss  Havens  stood  unharmed  in 
the  doorway,  tried  to  move  his  arm,  and  couldn't,  then 
tightly  pressed  his  lips  together  and  lay  without  a  word 
staring  up  at  the  ceiling,  a  world  of  patience  in  his 
genial,  rounded  face,  waiting  for  the  doctor. 

The  doctor  arrived  immediately,  taking  the  stairs 
two  at  a  time. 

"What  ho,  Dick  Hale !  What  'a'  they  been  doing  to 
you,  young  fellow?"  he  shouted  as  he  came  bustling 
in,  a  thin,  spectacled,  Vandyke-bearded  man  with  a 
wildly  coloured  waistcoat  and  a  merry  twinkle  in  his 
eye.  His  eyes  fell  upon  Gaston.  "What  ho !  You're 
the  Flying  Man,  eh?  Dropped  from  the  skies  on  top 


A  Challenge  21 

of  Red  Shirt  Murphy.  Heard  about  it.  Given  a 
night's  sleep  to  have  seen  it.  Something  new,  abso- 
lutely." 

He  was  throwing  off  gloves,  cap  and  overcoat. 

"Rough-handled  you,  eh,  old  dog?"  he  continued, 
taking  up  Hale's  arm.  "Hm,  good  enough.  Simple 
fracture.  Have  you  hale,  Hale,  in  a  hurry.  Mrs. 
Olson,  get  some  whisky.  No,  stop;  I  forgot.  Hale 
doesn't  use  the  vile  stuff.  I'll  give  him  something  else. 
But  you  can  get  me  some  nice,  clean  bandages,  Mrs. 
Olson.  Hulda — magnificent  white  and  gold  Norse 
Valkyrie  that  you  are — you  run  downstairs  and  get 
hot  water.  Miss  Havens,  I  believe  I'd  step  out  of  the 
room  for  a  few  minutes.  Hm.  Put  your  big  arm 
under  his  back  there,  Mister.  That's  right.  Now  you 
can  go,  too,  Big  Man;  too  big  for  a  sick-room.  See 
you  later,  I  hope.  Like  to  talk  to  you.  S'long." 

"Hold  on,"  groaned  Hale  suddenly,  as  Gaston 
moved  away.  "Come  to  my  dance  to-night.  Store 
across  street.  My  arm — be  a  man  short.  Take  my 
place.  Coming?" 

"Sure,"  replied  Gaston. 

Tom  Pine  was  waiting  anxiously  as  Gaston  stepped 
out  of  the  hotel. 

"Gaston — Gaston  Olaf,"  he  said  tremulously,  "let's 
travel.  The  signs  are  getting  thicker.  There  you  was, 
Gaston  Olaf,  doing  woman's  work  with  a  woman  to 
boss  you.  Tick  him  up,'  sez  the  woman,  and  you 
picked  him  up.  'Carry  him  in,'  she  sez,  and  you  car- 
ried. Tamed  like,  just  like  men  who  live  in  towns 
have  got  to  do — a  woman  to  boss  you!  Gaston — 
Gaston  Olaf,  let's  hit  the  trail." 

Gaston  shook  his  head.  He  did  not  laugh;  a  bad 
sign.  Tom  Pine  looked  wistfully  back  toward  the  free, 
unhoused  wilderness  whence  they  had  come. 

"Gaston  Olaf — look  at  her!"    He  waved  his  hand 


22  Gaston  Olaf 

toward  the  forest  that  ringed  the  town  around. 
"That's  the  place  for  us,  boy.  No  women  out  there. 
Look!  We  can  hit  that  trail  that  runs  'round  the 
shoulder  of  the  hog-back  yonder.  Once  we're  t'other 
side  of  the  hill,  we're  shet  of  this  town;  we  can  streak 
it  for  the  bush;  we're  safe.  Come  on,  Gaston  Olaf.  I 
had  the  Indian  feeling  about  this  place  when  we  started 
for  it,  and  what's  happened  since  we  been  here,  has 
made  me  see  that  the  signs  read  true.  Let's  sneak, 
Gaston  Olaf;  let's  sneak  before  it's  too  late." 

Gaston  shook  his  head,  smiling  tolerantly. 

"What  about  this  Red  Shirt  man  ?"  he  asked. 

Tom  Pine  nodded  regretfully. 

"That's  so.  WTe  ought  to  clean  him  up  before  we  go. 
Sure." 

"What  about  this  Taggart  man  who  wants  to  see 
us?" 

"Well,  let's  see  him  and  get  it  over  with." 

"And— and " 

Gaston  stopped  abruptly  and  whirled  around  at  the 
sound  of  a  light  footfall  behind  him. 

Tom  Pine  groaned. 

"Too  late!"  he  murmured  under  his  breath. 

Miss  Havens  had  come  out  of  the  hotel  and  was 
holding  her  hand  out  to  Gaston  Olaf. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  GIRL  WITH  THE  BROWN  EYES 

I  DON'T    want  you  to  think  because  I'm  tardy  in 
saying  'thanks'  that  I'm  not  grateful  to  you,  Mr. 
Thorson,"  she  said.     "I  was  so  concerned  about  poor 
Mr.  Hale  that  I  forgot  everything  else.     I  appreciate 
very  much  what  you  did." 

She  halted.  For  the  first  time  she  was  looking  at 
him  comprehensively,  and  few  women  could  look  upon 
Gaston  Olaf  as  he  stood  then,  a  master  woodsman, 
hardened  and  tough,  yet  with  something  winningly 
boylike  about  him,  without  pausing  in  appreciation. 
And  Miss  Havens,  from  the  crown  of  dark  hair  on  her 
head  to  her  tiny  feet,  was  as  much  a  woman  as  Gaston 
was  a  man. 

Gaston  took  the  proffered  hand  timidly.  It  lay  for 
a  second,  small  and  white,  in  his  huge  bronze  paw,  he 
scarcely  daring  to  touch  it  for  fear  of  crushing  it. 
Then  it  was  gone,  but  the  touch  of  it  remained  for 
long  after. 

For  a  moment  they  stood  silent,  a  study  in  con- 
trasts, the  man,  as  hard  and  rugged  as  any  pine  in 
the  forest,  the  girl  delicately  feminine,  a  creature  of 
softness,  tenderness.  And  the  morning  sun  flickered 
in  their  eyes,  and  they  were  young. 

"I  want  to  thank  you  for  what  you  did,"  she  con- 
cluded a  little  lamely.  "I — I  feel  under  obligation  to 
you." 

Gaston  Olaf's  tongue  loosened.  His  gay,  boyish 
laughter  rang  promptly  upon  her  words. 

23 


24  Gaston  Olaf 

"You  feel  under  obligation  to  me,  Miss  Havens? 
No,  no,  no!  The  truth  must  out.  I'm  the  one  who 
is  under  obligation  to  you.  You  do  not  understand 
how  that  is?  I  will  explain.  My  partner,  Tom  Pine 
— the  small,  tough-looking  man  there — and  myself 
have  been  in  the  bush  for  six  solid  months.  Six 
months,  Miss  Havens,  one  hundred  and  eighty  days! 
Not  in  a  camp  where  there  are  other  men,  where 
things  may  happen.  No ;  we  have  been  alone,  by  our- 
selves, in  our  two  little  cabins  on  a  couple  of  timber 
claims  we  are  proving  up  over  on  Otter  Creek.  There 
we  have  stayed,  six  months,  with  the  trees  for  com- 
pany by  day,  the  wolves,  stars,  bobcats,  by  night.  Good 
enough  company,  too,  Miss  Havens,  for  six  months. 
But  no  longer. 

"Six  months  is  the  limit.  Then  a  man  begins  to 
yearn  for  his  own.  He  wants  to  see  other  men,  talk 
to  them — see  women,  if  he  is  lucky.  Tom  Pine  and  I 
come  to  Havens  Falls.  We  want  to  see  other  people. 
We  need  to  have  something  happen  or  we'll  bust.  We 
stand  up  there  on  the  ridge  and  look  down.  We  won- 
der if  anything  will  happen  in  Havens  Falls.  Does  it? 

"Miss  Havens,  as  we're  standing  up  there,  those 
boys  begin  to  get  impolite  to  you.  What  more  could 
we  wish  ?  Tom  Pine  and  I,  we  slide  down  and  bump 
right  into  excitement — fine,  juicy  excitement — and 
now — now  I  have  the  privilege  of  meeting  and  talking 
with  you.  'Obligations !'  Miss  Havens,  I  must  thank 
you  for  the  trea^that  you  have  given  a  poor,  lonely 
man  from  the  woods." 

He  laughed  as  he  completed  his  swiftly  uttered 
speech,  and  the  infectious  gaiety  and  youth  of  his 
merriment  caught  her  up  and  she  laughed  with  him. 

"You  look  at  it  in  a  strange  way,"  she  said.  "I 
never  fancied  any  one  would  take  that  point  of  view." 

"Exactly.     There  is  a  difference  in  our  points  of 


The  Girl  with  the  Brown  Eyes       25 

view.  You  live  in  town;  I  live  in  the  woods.  Men 
get  queer  ideas  in  the  woods.  For  instance,  they  think 
that  towns  are  good  places  to  avoid,  except  when  in 
need  of  provisions." 

"That's  right,"  interrupted  Tom  Pine.    "They  are !" 

Again  Gaston  laughed  and  again  the  girl  joined  in. 

"You  see,  Miss  Havens  ?  Tom  Pine  there  is  a  regu- 
lar old  wood-tick.  He's  actually  afraid  when  he  is  in 
town,  afraid  something  terrible  will  happen." 

"That's  right."  Tom  Pine's  voice  was  grimmer 
than  ever.  "Towns  is  where  they  does  happen." 

"For  instance,  when  we  came  here  he  was  afraid 
that  the  worst  thing  in  the  world  would  happen  to  us." 

"In  Havens  Falls?"  she  said.  "Well,  it  is  getting 
to  be  a  very  rough  town." 

"Oh,  no,  no,  no,  Miss  Havens!  It  wasn't  anything 
like  that  that  Tom  Pine  was  afraid  of." 

"What  was  it,  then?" 

"Guess." 

"No.  I'd  never  guess.  I'm  afraid  our  points  of 
view  are  too  different." 

Gaston's  face  grew  deep  with  mock  gravity. 

"He  was  afraid,"  he  said  slowly,  solemnly,  "he  was 
afraid  that  we  might  settle  down  here  and  stay!" 

Her  laughter,  to  Gaston,  rang  out  like  the  tinkling 
of  a  fine  silver  bell. 

"Oh  dear!  As  terrible  as  that?  And  you — do  you 
share  Mr.  Pine's  fears?" 

Gaston  did  not  reply  at  once.  He  looked  around 
him  at  the  squat  houses,  the  frame  stores,  the  side- 
walks, at  the  river  and  the  timber  beyond,  and  his  eyes 
came  back  to  the  girl's. 

"I  am  a  roamer,  Miss  Havens,"  said  he.  "I've  got 
the  restless  feet  that  won't  let  a  man  stop  long  enough 
in  any  one  place  to  get  rooted.  I've  never  stayed  in 
any  town  I've  been  in  any  longer  than  I  could  help." 


26  Gaston  Olaf 

Again  he  looked  around.  "But  this — seems  to  be  dif- 
ferent," he  said.  "I  suppose  a  man  has  to  settle  down 
sometime.  Maybe — I  don't  know — maybe  Tom  Pine 
is  right." 

With  a  laugh  he  pointed  out  into  the  street  where 
the  broken  stumps  of  his  skis  were  sticking  in  the 
snow. 

"You  see,  Miss  Havens,  I  broke  my  skis  here." 

"But  I  suppose  you  can  make  new  ones?"  she 
said. 

"You  bet!"  snapped  Tom  Pine.  "I'm  the  best  ski- 
maker  in  this  country." 

"A  man  can  make  skis,  or  do  anything  else,  if  he 
really  wants  to,"  said  Gaston. 

"Can  he?"  she  said,  with  a  glance  at  the  lower  end 
of  the  street.  "Then  I  wish  I  were  a  man.  I'd  make 
Havens  Falls  fit  for  decent  people  to  live  in." 

She  began  to  move  away  toward  a  substantial  frame 
house  in  a  fenced  yard  beyond  the  post-office. 

"There  is  poor  Mr.  Hale,"  she  said,  pausing.  "He's 
just  completed  his  store  building  and  is  to  give  a  dance 
this  evening  to  celebrate  it,  and  here  they  disable 
him." 

"Boys  will  be  boys,  Miss  Havens.  Especially  in  a 
settlement  that's  still  got  the  bark  on." 

"Of  course.  But  it  isn't  necessary  for  them  to  be 
such  utter  brutes  as  this  last  gang  of  outsiders  has 
shown  themselves  to  be." 

"Oh."  Gaston's  eyes  widened.  "Outsiders,  are 
they?  And  there's  going  to  be  a  dance  in  the  new 
store  to-night ?  Oh,  ho!  Miss  Havens,  are  you  going 
to  grace  the  gay  and  festive  occasion  with  your  pres- 
ence?" 

"I  am  going  to  be  there,  yes,"  she  laughed.  Then 
over  her  shoulder  she  asked,  "Why?" 

"Because,"  said  Gaston  seriously,  "that  being  the 


The  Girl  with  the  Brown  Eyes       27 

case  I  have  got  to  get  a  shave,  and  a  boiled  shirt,  and 
some  new  shoes,  and — dress  up." 

"You're  coming,  too?" 

"Hale  just  invited  me.     I  am." 

She  paused  a  distance  away  and  looked  at  him. 

"You  might,"  she  said  merrily,  "get  a  shave,  but 
please — please  don't  dress  up!" 

Gaston  scratched  his  chin  dubiously  as  he  watched 
her  go. 

"What  did  she  mean  by  that,  d'you  s'pose,  Tom?" 

But  Tom  Pine  deigned  not  to  reply;  only  spat  dis- 
gustedly into  the  snow. 

"Now  you've  done  it,  Gaston  Olaf,"  he  grumbled. 
"You  always  was  a  fool  for  hunting  trouble." 


CHAPTER  IV 


WHAT  ho,  gents!  Looking  over  our  fair  young 
village?"  The  irrepressible  doctor  was  beam- 
ing on  them  from  the  doorway  of  the  hotel.  "Take 
a  good  look  at  her.  You  see  before  you  the  peerless 
Queen  City  of  the  great  North  Woods — in  embryo. 
Small  and  sordid  to  look  upon  now,  gents,  but,  I  pray 
you,  let  your  imagination  soar.  See,  instead  of  the 
crude  board  and  log  shanties,  a  street  of  brick  and 
stone.  See,  instead  of  saloons,  honky-tonks  and 
gambling-houses — schools,  churches,  banks,  and — mil- 
linery shops.  Instead  of  a  couple  of  hundred  inhabi- 
tants, see  thousands;  instead  of — hm,  hm!  Rather 
hard  on  the  imagination,  seeing  so  much  on  a  dry 
stomach.  If  you'll  step  across  the  street  to  my  palatial 
office  I'll  hurl  a  shot  of  hooch  into  you  that  I'll  guar- 
antee won't  give  you  the  snakes  under  twenty  drinks. 
Come  along.  I  pine  for  your  ruffianly  company." 

He  led  the  way  to  a  two-room  frame  building  op- 
posite. The  first  room  was  fitted  out  as  a  doctor's 
office,  cleanly,  pleasant,  severe;  but  the  room  behind, 
whither  he  ushered  Gaston  and  Tom  Pine,  betrayed  the 
doctor's  true  character. 

A  bow-legged  bulldog  leaped  truculently  from  a  cot- 
bed  to  welcome  them.  In  reprimand  the  doctor  picked 
up  a  boxing-glove  from  a  chair  and  smote  the  dog 
across  the  nose.  The  walls  of  the  room  were  hung 
with  guns,  fishing-rods,  boxing  pictures,  deer-heads 
and  mounted  fish.  Books  lay  scattered  about  pro- 

28 


The  Taming  of  Red  Shirt        29 

miscuously,  and  the  reek  of  tobacco  smoke  hung  thick 
over  all. 

"Now  then,  Big  Fellow,"  said  the  doctor  briskly, 
when  the  drinks  had  been  poured  and  consumed,  "do 
you  do  those  long-distance  jumps  onto  a  bad  man's 
head  as  a  regular  thing,  or  was  this  merely  a  special 
occasion?  Sing  me  the  saga  of  what  happened  out 
there  in  front  of  the  post-office.  I  try  not  to  miss 
anything  as  good  as  that,  but  Fate  was  ag'in'  me  this 
time.  I  didn't  see  a  thing." 

"No,"  said  Gaston,  "you  will  answer  my  questions 
first:  Who  is  the  young  lady,  Miss  Havens?" 

The  doctor  bowed. 

"  'Young  lady'  is  right.  Miss  Havens  is — you've 
heard  of  old  'Lone  Camp'  Havens?  Yep?  He  was 
the  old-timer  who  cruised  this  country  first  of  all. 
Made  this  settlement.  Tried  to  get  hold  of  the  timber 
around.  Did  get  hold  of  some.  LaCroix  Logging 
Company  froze  him  out  of  most  of  it.  When  he  died 
he  left  a  few  houses,  a  few  acres  of  town-site  along 
the  river  here,  and  one  good  bunch  of  white  pine  up 
the  river,  ten,  twelve  miles  away,  on  Loon  Lake.  Well, 
Miss  Havens  is  the  old  man's  daughter.  Away  at 
school  when  the  old  gent  died.  Came  back.  Settled 
down.  LaCroix  Company  tried  to  buy  her  out  for 
about  four  cents  on  the  dollar's  worth.  She  wouldn't 
sell.  There  you  are.  Angel  of  the  settlement;  you 
know  what  I  mean." 

Gaston  nodded. 

"Do  you  know  of  a  man  named  Taggart?" 

"LaCroix  Logging  Company — that's  Taggart — 
'Devil  Dave'  Taggart.  Office  down  by  his  mill  on  the 
river." 

"And  Red  Shirt  Murphy?" 

The  doctor  spat. 

"That  big  bum!    Jail-rat,  I  should  judge.    Came  up 


30  Gaston  Olaf 

with  a  gang  about  a  week  ago.  Going  to  a  new  camp 
up  the  river.  All  outsiders.  All  got  on  a  drunk.  Been 
ripping  the  shirt  off  the  back  of  the  town  ever  since 
they've  been  here.  Made  a  bet  he'd  kiss  Miss  Havens 
before  he  left  town.  Bah !" 

Gaston  was  on  his  feet. 

"Where's  Jack  MacCarthy's  place?"  he  asked 
quietly. 

The  doctor  rose  also. 

"Down  the  street;  the  biggest  place  here,"  he  said, 
puzzled.  "That's  where  Murphy  hangs  out." 

"So  long,"  said  Gaston  as  he  started  out. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  the  doctor.    "I'm  coming,  too." 

With  a  song  on  his  lips  Gaston  hurried  down  the 
street  to  the  long  frame  building  bearing  the  sign: 
"Jack  MacCarthy's  Saloon."  Still  humming,  he  en- 
tered the  barroom,  which  was  well  filled.  He  walked 
straight  up  to  the  bar  and  threw  up  a  dollar. 

"A  drink  of  liquor,"  he  said  loudly,  "and  be  sure 
it  isn't  out  of  the  bottle  that  you  give  that  high-banker, 
Mr.  Red  Shirt  Murphy." 

For  a  space  of  seconds  the  room  was  still.  Then 
from  the  end  of  the  bar  came  a  throaty  bellow. 

"You  come  for  it,  did  you,  Mr.  Gasbag  Thorson?" 
growled  Murphy,  as  he  stepped  forth  from  his  crowd 
and  threw  off  his  mackinaw.  "All  right;  you're  going 
to  get  what  you  come  after." 

Gaston  turned,  a  glassful  of  fiery  liquor  in  his 
hand. 

"Why,  there's  the  high-banker  now,"  he  laughed. 
"Here,  Mr.  Murphy,  have  a  drink,"  and  he  hurled  the 
liquor  straight  into  Murphy's  lowering  face. 

Turmoil  broke  loose.  Half  a  dozen  men  leaped  to- 
ward him. 

"Gentlemen,  gentlemen!"    Dr.    Sander's    bantering 


The  Taming  of  Red  Shirt        31 

voice  rose  above  the  noise.  "Fair  play,  fair  play !  We 
do  not  conduct  affairs  between  gentlemen  in  this  man- 
ner." He  advanced  from  the  doorway  to  the  centre 
of  the  room.  "The  difficulty  lies  between  these  two 
gentlemen ;  nobody  else  has  any  share  in  it.  Mr.  Mac- 
Carthy,  I  hope  you  agree?" 

Behind  the  bar  the  puff- faced  MacCarthy  looked 
Gaston  over  and  nodded. 

"The  doc's  right.  It's  the  two  av  'em  for  it.  Clear 
the  floor,  the  rest  of  you  there !  Give  'em  all  the  room 
they  want." 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  MacCarthy."  The  doctor  bowed 
lightly  and  produced  a  split-second  watch.  "The  fight 
will  be  conducted  regularly,  three-minute  rounds,  one- 
minute  intervals.  Anything  goes  but  knives,  axes, 
guns,  and  other  ungentlemanly  impedimenta.  Gentle- 
men, are  you  ready?" 

"Ready !"  laughed  Gaston ;  he  was  leaning  carelessly 
with  his  back  against  the  bar. 

"Ready!"  growled  Murphy. 

"Time!"  cried  the  doctor,  and  with  the  word  Mur- 
phy rushed. 

Gaston  did  not  move  until  Murphy  was  within  strik- 
ing distance;  then  only  the  leap  of  the  wildcat  would 
have  matched  him  for  swiftness,  the  might  of  a  bear 
for  power. 

He  caught  Murphy  about  the  middle.  In  a  fury  he 
heaved  him  up  over  his  head  and  let  him  fall.  Then 
he  stepped  back  to  the  bar. 

Murphy  strove  to  arise.  A  groan  escaped  his  lips 
and  he  collapsed.  The  doctor  stepped  forward  and 
bent  over  him.  A  moment  later  he  looked  up. 

"The  fight  is  over,  gentlemen,  and  Mr.  Thorson 
wins,"  he  said.  "Some  of  you  fellows  who' re  friends 
of  Murphy  pick  him  up.  We've  got  to  put  him  to  bed ; 
his  collar-bone's  broken." 


32  Gaston  Olaf 

"The  right  one,  isn't  it,  doc  ?"  asked  Gaston. 

"Yes.    Snapped  clean." 

Gaston  looked  around  at  the  hard  eyes  that  were 
regarding  him  truculently. 

"It  was  his  right  arm  that  Murphy  put  around  Miss 
Havens,"  he  said.  "Anybody  else  want  to  give  me  a 
chance  to  show  that  trick?" 

Even  the  doctor  stared. 

"Hm,  hm!  I  see.  Pretty  rough  work,  Big  Man. 
Little  disappointed  myself.  Hoped  we'd  see  a  nice 
little  mill  with  the  maulies.  Like  to  have  you  show 
me  that  throw,  though,  later  on." 

"I  will  show  it  now  if  any  of  Mr.  Murphy's  friends 
want  revenge,"  said  Gaston.  "What!  Nobody?  All 
right;  think  it  over.  Any  time  any  of  you  change 
your  minds  you  can  find  me.  I  will  always  be  ready 
to  oblige." 

With  Tom  Pine  following,  he  walked  out,  paying 
no  more  attention  to  the  glowering  crowd  than  if  it 
was  so  much  furniture. 

"Gripes,  Gaston  Olaf !"  gasped  Tom  Pine  when  they 
were  out  in  the  street.  "That  was  the  fiercest  I  ever 
see  you  tackle  a  man  yet.  I  never  see  you  mad  yet — 
don't  know  if  you  really  can  get  mad  like  other  folks 
— but  if  I  didn't  know  you  so  well,  I'd  say  you  was 
mad  when  you  took  hold  of  him." 

Gaston  shook  his  head  seriously. 

"Tom  Pine,"  said  he,  "I  sort  of  take  to  this  settle- 
ment. I  like  the  people  here.  I  like  the  way  things 
happen.  We've  had  excitement.  'Something  differ- 
ent.' Life  has  been  worth  living  every  second  since 
we  came  into  town.  I  don't  know  but  what  we'll  make 
camp  and  stay  awhile." 

"That  ain't  news  to  me,  Gaston  Olaf.  I  knowed 
we  was  going  to  do  that  for  some  time." 

"Well,  Tom  Pine,  I'm  a  peace-loving  man." 


The  Taming  of  Red  Shirt        33 

Tom  Pine  made  queer  noises  in  his  throat,  indicating 
that  he  was  suppressing  a  chuckle. 

"I  am,"  insisted  Gaston.  "I  don't  like  to  keep  fight- 
ing all  the  time." 

"Not  all  the  time;  I  admit  you  that,  Gaston  Olaf. 
Unless  a  man  thinks  out  loud  that  he's  as  good  a  man 
as  you  are,  you  don't  want  to  fight  him ;  I'll  admit  you 
that." 

"There's  a  whole  lot  of  hard  men  in  this  settlement; 
you  can  see  that,"  continued  Gaston.  "Well,  I  don't 
want  to  be  fighting  'em  all.  And  I  don't  think  after 
this  I'll  have  to,  eh,  Tom  Pine  ?" 

"Perhaps."  Tom  Pine  looked  at  his  partner  out  of 
the  corner  of  one  eye.  "And  was  that  why  you  was 
so  rough  with  this  Murphy — was  that  the  whole  rea- 
son why?" 

Gaston  looked  dreamily  up  the  street. 

"He  was  like  a  baby  in  my  hands,  wasn't  he,  Tom 
Pine?"  he  said  vaguely.  "Just  like  a  little  toy.  I  felt 
as  if  I  exploded  when  I  laid  hands  on  him.  His  arm 
curved  out  to  get  me,  and  I  saw  him  just  as  we  saw 
him  first  when  he  was  trying  to  take  hold  of  the  girl, 
back  there  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  I  heaved  up  on  him. 
Tom  Pine,  I  swear  I  didn't  feel  his  weight  at  all.  He 
was  nothing.  I  let  him  fall.  His  neck  or  his  shoulder 
blade,  I  didn't  care.  The  dirty,  drunken  bum!  He 
dared  to  try  to  kiss  that  girl !" 

"He'll  have  it  in  for  you,"  said  Tom  drily.  "The 
others  may  be  scared  off;  he'll  remember.  He's  kind 
of  a  hard  one.  You  can  see  it  in  his  eye." 

Gaston  came  out  of  his  mood  of  abstraction  with  a 
start. 

"What?  Oh,  yes,  sure.  But  he  won't  be  fit  for 
rough  work  for  some  time.  Now,  let's  look  up  this 
Taggart." 

As  they  looked  around,  a  soft-footed  young  Indian 


34  Gaston  Olaf 

came  like  a  shadow  out  of  MacCarthy's  place,  slipped 
past  them  and  glided  away  toward  the  mill  buildings 
on  the  water-front. 

"Hello!  Look  at  that.  That's  where  we  want  to 
go,  too." 

The  Indian  had  slipped  swiftly  into  a  small  log 
building  standing  by  itself  on  the  river-bank  and  bear- 
ing a  sign :  "LaCroix  Logging  Company,  Office." 

Save  that  it  was  more  carefully  and  strongly  put 
together,  the  office  building  might  have  been  a  cabin 
in  the  woods.  Its  walls  were  made  of  thick  logs,  care- 
fully hewed  and  fitted.  Four  small  windows,  one  in 
each  wall,  served  to  let  in  the  light,  and  in  the  heavy 
timber  door  a  tiny  pane  of  glass,  high  up,  looked  down 
the  street  of  the  settlement  like  a  single  vigilant  eye. 

Tom  Pine  cocked  his  head  shrewdly  as  they  ap- 
proached and  surveyed  the  building. 

"Gaston  Olaf,"  he  said  quizzically,  "d'you  know 
what  that  looks  like  to  me?  Looks  like  a  little  fort. 
Look  how  it  stands  right  out  there  by  itself  on  the 
river.  Two  men  with  Winchesters  and  plenty  of  cart- 
ridges could  stand  off  this  whole  settlement  if  they 
had  nerve.  You  can  tell  a  man  by  his  shanty,  Gaston 
Olaf,  as  you  know;  but  I'll  be  shot  if  I  can  figger  the 
breed  of  the  guy  who  dens  up  here." 

The  door  opened  slightly  as  they  stood  there,  the 
Indian  slipped  out,  and  the  door  closed  swiftly  behind 
him. 

"How,  Charley?"  greeted  Gaston.  "Man  named 
Taggart  camping  here?" 

"Mebbe  so,"  grunted  the  Indian  and  passed  by  with- 
out looking  up. 

"Come  on,"  said  Gaston,  "we  can  make  a  good 
Injun  out  o'  him  later  on,"  and  he  pushed  open  the 
door. 


CHAPTER  V 

DEVIL  DAVE  TAGGART 

A  THIN  voice  greeted  them  promptly.  "If  you're 
coming  in,  come  in  and  close  the  door." 

Gaston  looked  in  the  direction  from  whence  came 
the  voice  and  in  a  poorly  lighted  corner  of  the  poorly 
lighted  room  made  out  a  skull-capped  head  bent  over 
a  rude  desk. 

"You  wish  to  see " 

The  voice  was  almost  servile.  The  head  did  not 
lift  itself  at  their  entrance.  Its  owner  was  busy  with 
pencil  and  paper. 

"A  man  named  Taggart,"  replied  Gaston. 

"Yes,  yes.  Exactly.  And  you  wish  to  see  Mr.  Tag- 
gart about " 

Still  the  skull-cap  stared  Gaston  in  the  face. 

Gaston  bridled  a  little.  He  was  not  accustomed  to 
the  usages  of  the  business  world,  nor  to  having  un- 
derlings stop  and  question  him  when  he  sought  to  see 
any  man,  no  matter  what  his  position.  For  a  moment 
he  stood  staring  at  the  skull-cap,  then  his  voice  rattled 
the  windows. 

"I  want  to  kiss  him!"  he  roared.  "What  did  you 
s'pose  I  wanted  of  him?" 

The  skull-cap  went  up ;  the  pencil  ceased  scribbling. 
Gaston  saw  a  large,  roughly  bearded  face  standing  out 
of  the  half-light.  A  pair  of  tiny  eyes  were  boring  him 
through,  and  through  the  heavy  moustache  around  the 
man's  mouth  he  caught  the  gleam  of  two  fang-like 

35 


36  Gaston  Olaf 

teeth.  He  saw  now  that  the  man's  head  was  huge, 
that  it  was  sunken  down  on  a  pair  of  painfully  bowed 
shoulders. 

The  man,  although  seated  cramped  at  a  desk,  seemed 
to  grow  as  he  looked  at  him.  At  first  he  had  judged 
him  a  thin-chested  indoor  man.  Now  he  saw  that  he 
was  enormously  thick  through  the  body,  and  that  for 
a  moment  the  power  of  him  seemed  to  fill  the  room. 

"I  am  Taggart,"  said  the  man  meekly,  and  collapsed 
into  his  former  position. 

Gaston  blinked.  He  felt  that  his  first  impression 
must  have  been  right;  the  man  was  small  and  weedy. 
He  wore  a  long  frock-coat.  No  one  but  an  indoor 
man  would  wear  such  a  coat. 

"My  name  is  Thorson,"  said  Gaston. 

"Yes,  yes."  The  man  did  not  look  up.  "I  have 
heard  of  you.  I  have  heard  of  some  of  your — your 
playful  little  ways,  let  us  say.  I  have  often  thought 
that  we  could  be  useful  to  each  other.  I  have  things 
to  be  done,  sometimes,  that  require  men  of  your  cali- 
bre— men  who  are  untamed,  without  respect  for  the 
law,  and " 

He  looked  up  suddenly,  and  again  Gaston  felt  the 
blinding  power  of  those  half-hid  eyes. 

"You  have  considerable  reputation  for  roughness, 
Mr.  Thorson." 

"Perhaps,"  replied  Gaston.    "What  of  it?" 

Taggart  coughed  feebly. 

"I  have  taken  the  trouble,"  he  said  in  his  thinnest 
voice,  "to  assure  myself  that  your  reputation  is,  in  this 
respect,  based  on  fact." 

Again  he  coughed,  pushing  his  chair  back  weakly. 

"You  see,  I  am  no  child  myself,"  he  whined,  and 
stood  up,  a  red-grey  bearded  giant,  in  spite  of  his  min- 
isterial frock-coat. 

For  a  few  seconds  he  stood  thus,  a  grotesquely  huge, 


Devil  Dave  Taggart  37 

gnarled  figure,  filling  his  corner  of  the  room,  and  then 
with  a  faint  cough,  he  subsided  into  his  chair. 

"Mr.  Thorson,"  he  resumed,  "do  you  realise  that 
this  country  about  here  is  in  danger  of  becoming  too — 
too,  shall  we  say  too  civilised  for  real,  true  men  of  the 
woods  to  live  in  ?  We  are  at  sort  of  a  crisis  here.  Set- 
tlers, towns,  and  even  railroads  threaten  to  come  into 
the  district.  Men  of  the  old  kind  will  be  driven  out. 
The  country  will  become  as  tame  as  a  back  yard  unless 
the  people  who  seek  to  make  it  so  are — er — discour- 
aged." 

"Run  'em  out,"  said  Gaston  carelessly.  "  'Tisn't  the 
first  place  where  it's  been  done.  Those  fellows  wouldn't 
leave  any  free  woods  if  they  had  their  way  about  it." 

Taggart  lifted  his  head  and  smiled. 

"And  does  your  partner " 

He  nodded  at  Tom  Pine. 

"Same  here,"  said  Tom.    "We're  partners." 

Taggart  nodded. 

"Well,  then,  gentlemen,  we  agree  on  that,  as  I  knew 
we  would,  having  taken  the  precaution  to  investigate 
your  reputation  for — er — for  not  being  tame."  His 
manner  suddenly  changed.  "However,  I  am  slightly 
disappointed  in  you,  Mr.  Thorson,"  he  continued  in  his 
thin  voice.  "Brawling,  fighting,  frequenting  saloons — 
such  things  are  very  distasteful  to  me." 

Gaston  took  a  sudden  step  forward. 

"Mr.  Taggart,  with  your  nice  black  coat,  you  can 
keep  that  kind  of  talk  behind  your  bristly  old  beard. 
I  didn't  come  here  to  find  out  whether  you  liked  my 
style  or  not.  I  don't  care  a  hoot  whether  you  do.  And 
I'll  let  you  know  that  that  kind  of  talk  doesn't  go  with 
me." 

Taggart's  teeth  showed  in  a  satisfied  smile. 

"Yes,  yes.  I  understand.  Youth,  high  spirits;  yes, 
yes.  Nevertheless,  it  is  sinful,  very  sinful.  And 


38  Gaston  Olaf 

wasteful,  wasteful  of  good  material.  Mr.  Thorson, 
you  have  just  seriously  damaged  one  of  my  camp  fore- 
men, very  seriously  damaged  him.  In  fact,  from  what 
I  hear,  he  is  for  the  time  being  a  total  loss." 

"You've  heard  of  that?  Why,  it  just  happened. 
Oh,  that  Indian " 

"Yes,  yes.  I — through  my  friends — I  manage  to 
hear  of  most  things  that  happen  in  this  settlement  as 
immediately  afterward  as  may  be.  I  also  know  of 
how  you  arrived  in  town.  I  commend  you  for  your 
action  in  saving  Miss  Havens  from  the — the  rough 
humour  of  intoxicated  men. 

"It  is  distressing  to  think  of  the  roughness  and  care- 
lessness of  some  of  the  men  about  here,  particularly  of 
this  crew  which  I  am  sending  to  my  new  camp.  They 
are  a  rather  rougher  outfit  than  ordinary.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  I  shall  have  trouble  finding  a  man  who  is 
man  enough  to  get  them  out  of  town,  get  them  into 
camp  and  start  them  working.  They  are  rather  hard 
to  control.  Yes,  I  doubt  if  there  is  a  man  to  be  found 
about  here  who  is  man  enough  for  the  task — now  that 
Murphy  is  disabled." 

Gaston's  neck  began  to  swell.  This  man  was  play- 
ing with  him,  taunting  him,  the  cock  o'  the  woods ! 

"Mr.  Taggart,"  he  said  in  his  best  manner,  "if  this 
Murphy  was  so  valuable  to  you,  you  should  have  kept 
him  wrapped  up  carefully,  so  a  real  man  couldn't  lay 
hands  on  him  and  bust  him  up." 

Taggart  wagged  his  head,  smiling  the  smile  that 
showed  the  two  fang-like  teeth. 

"Perhaps  in  a  wrestling  match,  Mr.  Thorson,  you 
were  his  master,"  he  whined.  "Boys'  play,  horse- 
play. But  handling  a  crew  that  is  on  a  spree,  handling 
two  dozen  big  rough  men,  that's  a  different  matter, 
very,  very  different,  indeed." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  I — that  I  can't  do  it?" 


Devil  Dave  Taggart  39 

Taggart  wagged  his  head,  still  smiling. 

The  smile  ate  into  Gaston' s  heart.  It  seemed  to 
search  out  his  very  soul,  to  weigh  him  to  the  marrow 
of  his  bones,  and  to  find  him  ridiculously,  boyishly 
wanting.  It  seemed  to  him  that  this  old  man  before 
him  was  chipping  inches  off  his  stature,  was  softening 
the  metal  of  his  manhood,  was  making  him  feel  small. 
For  the  moment  he  forgot  everything  else ;  he  even  for- 
got the  girl.  This  was  the  challenge;  the  primordial 
taunt  which  roused  him  as  the  lightning  flash  rouses 
thunder. 

"Don't  you  think  I'm  man  enough  for  your  job?"  he 
demanded. 

"Oh,  I  don't  say  that,  Mr.  Thorson.  I  had  not  con- 
sidered you  as  a  possible  successor  to  Murphy.  No, 
no.  This  task — I  had  Murphy  selected  for  it." 

"And  I  broke  Murphy  like  a  boy,  between  my  two 
bare  hands,"  said  Gaston.  "Do  you  still  say  I  can  not 
do  what  he  could?" 

Taggart  looked  at  him  suddenly. 

"Do  you  think  you  can?"  he  said  in  a  fuller  voice. 

"That's  the  question."  Gaston  struck  the  desk. 
"Can  I  do  it  ?  Is  it  in  me  ?  Here  are  two  dozen  hard 
men — the  hardest  I've  ever  seen  in  the  woods.  They 
hate  me  because  I  broke  their  leader  and  gave  them 
the  dare — which  they  didn't  take  up.  They're  drink- 
ing, and  they  don't  want  to  leave  town.  They  would 
be  ready  to  smash  up  any  man  who  tried  to  take  them 
to  camp  now.  And  there  isn't  probably  one  of  them 
who  wouldn't  knife  me  if  he  had  the  chance. 

"What  will  happen  when  they  see  that  I'm  the  man 
who  is  going  to  yank  them  away  from  their  whisky 
and  put  them  in  camp?  What  will  they  do?  What 
will  I  do?  That's  the  question.  That's  what  draws 
me,  Mr.  Taggart.  Not  the  chance  of  a  job,  but  that. 
It's  a  challenge;  it's  a  temptation  to  try,  and — I'm 


40  Gaston  Olaf 

strong  against  everything  but  that  kind  of  temptation. 
You  ask  me :  'Do  you  think  you  can  ?'  I  reply,  'Give 
me  the  job.' ' 

The  skull-cap  went  down  over  the  desk. 

"All  right."  The  pencil  was  busy  on  the  paper. 
"You  may  try.  The  camp  is  ready.  Camp  Nine,  a 

new  camp,  eight  miles  up  the  river  on You  don't 

know  the  country  up  there,  do  you?" 

"Never  been  up  there." 

"Yes,  yes,  so  I  understood.  This  new  camp  is  eight 
miles  up  the  river — eight  miles — on  Thunder  Lake. 
Ever  hear  of  Thunder  Lake?  No;  it's  a  small  lake, 
eight  miles  away.  It's  Norway  pine  we're  cutting  up 
there ;  a  small  job;  early  drive.  The  camp  is  all  ready, 
grub,  tools  and  horses.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  get  the 
men  up  there — you'll  find  a  working  boss  there;  he'll 
put  'em  to  work.  You're  to  get  them  up  there  and 
keep  them  at  it.  The  sleighs  are  ready  to  haul  the 
men  out  any  time  you  wish  to  start.  Your  wages " 

"Ptt!  Do  you  think  I  do  this  for  money — for  money 
alone?" 

"For  what,  then?" 

"For  the  fun  of  doing  it — for  fun." 

"Your  wages  will  be  a  hundred  dollars  a  month," 
said  Taggart,  adding  drily,  "if  you're  able  to  come  back 
and  collect  it.  That's  big  wages  for  light  work.  The 
working  boss  at  Camp  Nine  gets  only  eighty.  That's 
just  the  figure  that  your  job  is  worth,  too.  You  will  be 
paid  the  extra  twenty  dollars  in  order  to  make  it  to 
your  interest  to  do  one  certain  thing  and  do  it  well." 

"What's  that?" 

"Keep  your  mouth  shut.  Keep  it  shut  first,  last  and 
all  the  time!  Keep  it  shut  about  Camp  Nine.  And  if 
you  absolutely  have  got  to  talk  about  Camp  Nine,  re- 
member only  this :  it's  on  Thunder  Lake  and  only  eight 
miles  away  from  the  settlement ;  it's  Norway  pine  that 


Devil  Dave  Taggart  41 

we're  cutting,  and  there's  only  a  small  batch  of  it." 

The  skull-cap  flew  up  and  Taggart  was  smiling  ge- 
nially. 

"To  tell  the  truth,  Mr.  Thorson,  I've  heard  a  lot 
about  you.  I've  often  wanted  to  get  you  on  my  pay- 
roll. I — I  often  have  wanted  a  man  like  you  who  is 
not — not  softened  by  civilisation,  or  bothered  about 
laws,  or  any  of  that  silly  stuff;  a  man  who  makes  his 
own  laws.  That's  what  I  do,  and  I  understand  you 
do,  too.  Well,  Thorson,  you're  a  young  man.  I'm  a 
powerful  one.  I've  got  a  one-hand  grip  on  this  coun- 
try around  here,  and  I  want  to  make  it  two-handed. 
A  lot  of  small  people  are  trying  to  keep  me  from  doing 
it — dirty  little  squatters  and  settlers  and  so  on.  I  am 
not  a  man  of  violence,  Thorson.  Conflict  is  distasteful 
to  me.  But  you — ah,  well,  we  shall  see  how  you  make 
out  on  your  first  task.  But  remember  that  the  young 
man  who  makes  himself  David  Taggart' s  fighting  man 
will  be  one  of  the  big  men,  one  of  the  rich  men  of  this 
country.  Now,  here  is  a  list  of  the  names  of  the  men 
who  are  to  go  to  Camp  Nine.  You  can  get  sleighs — 
take  two  of  them — any  time  you  order  them  over  at 
the  company's  barns.  Can  you  start  at  once  ?" 

"No,"  said  Gaston,  "I  have  decided  to  take  in  the 
dance  here  to-night  first." 

The  skull-cap  dropped  again.  Taggart  shook  his 
head. 

"Ah,  yes,"  he  whined.  "I  have  heard  there  is  to  be 
a  dance.  I  do  not  approve  of  such  frivolity.  Harm- 
less enough  in  itself,  I  have  no  doubt,  but  I  fear  it  is 
only  the  stepping-stone  to  great  sins  and  evils. 
You " 

"I  will  have  the  men  in  camp  to-morrow  morning," 
interrupted  Gaston.  "Is  that  good  enough  for  you?" 

The  skull-cap  nodded. 

"And  remember,"  came  the  whining  voice,  "Camp 


42  Gaston  Olaf 

Nine  is  on  Thunder  Lake,  eight  miles  out,  and  we're 
cutting  Norway  pine." 

Gaston  drew  in  a  long,  hungry  breath  as  he  stepped 
out  into  the  bright  light  of  day.  He  looked  at  Tom 
Pine.  Tom  Pine  shivered. 

"That's  just  the  way  I  feel,  too,"  laughed  Gaston. 
"Whew!  That  man  tired  me  more  than  a  day  and 
night  on  a  rough  trail.  He's  an  old  swamp  auger  if 
there  ever  was  one.  Bores  right  into  you  and  sucks  the 
steam  out  of  you  and  grins  a  little  to  let  you  know  that 
he  knows  just  how  small  you  feel." 

"I  need  a  drink,"  said  Tom  Pine.  "Come  on.  That 
doctor's  stufFll  be  about  the  right  medicine." 

They  found  the  doctor  waiting  for  them  in  his  office. 

"What  ho,  busy  gents!  You  fellows  don't  waste 
time,  do  you?  Come  into  town  on  the  jump;  knock 
over  one  of  our  bad  citizens ;  give  a  little  first  aid  to 
the  injured;  take  a  drink;  waltz  out;  break  the  bad 
citizen's  collar-bone ;  and  stroll  down  and  call  on  'Devil 
Dave'  Taggart  just  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  Boys, 
I  like  you.  I  like  the  clip  you  travel  at.  Let  us  re- 
treat from  the  prying  public  eye  and  introduce  into 
our  systems  a  little  of  that  justly  celebrated  poisonous, 
irritating,  habit-forming  drug  called  'hooch.' ' 

"We  sure  need  it,"  admitted  Tom  Pine. 

"Most  people  do  after  talking  with  Dave  Taggart," 
chuckled  the  doctor  as  he  led  the  way  into  the  back 
room  and  produced  the  bottle.  "See  little  Samson 
there?"  He  pointed  to  the  big  bulldog  which  came 
waddling  to  greet  them.  "Doesn't  look  like  a  party 
that  anything  would  set  back  much,  does  he?  Well, 
little  Samson  met  Taggart  one  bright  Sunday  morn- 
ing when  they  were  both  feeling  fine,  and  Samson 
growled  and  showed  his  teeth.  Taggart  looked  at  him. 
Samson  came  home,  tail  between  his  legs,  whining. 
Here's  how,  boys.  And,  say,  talking  about  drinking, 


Devil  Dave  Taggart  43 

and  women,  that  man  Taggart — he's  the  champion. 
Sprees  about  once  a  month.  Awful!  What'd  he  do 
to  you?" 

Gaston  replied  merely  that  he  had  been  engaged  to 
take  Murphy's  crew  out  to  camp. 

"Glorious  gobs  of  joy!  When  are  you  going  to 
start  'em?  Don't  let  me  miss  it,  will  you?  Man, 
you're  taking  your  life  in  your  hands.  Guess  that 
doesn't  bother  you,  though,  eh?  When  does  the  riot 
take  place?" 

"After  the  dance  to-night." 

"Hm,  hm !  The  dance.  I  see.  Well,  I'd  feel  more 
confident  that  there  was  going  to  be  a  dance  to-night 
if  you'd  told  me  that  gang  was  going  out  before  the 
dance." 

"Why  so?" 

"Because — hm,  hm — that  bunch — they're  talking—- 
they're going  to  come  and  break  it  up." 

Gaston  smiled. 

"Oh,  that'll  be  all  right,"  he  said.  "Say,  Doc,  let 
me  use  your  razor." 


CHAPTER  VI 

BROWN   EYES   CAN   BE   COLD 

NEXT  to  a  fight  Gaston  probably  loved  a  dance 
above  other  things  to  be  had  in  towns.  Just  as 
the  shock  of  breast  against  breast  in  desperate  battle 
woke  within  him  the  raging,  tearing  joy  of  the  fight- 
ing man,  so  the  strains  of  music,  the  sight  of  beam- 
ing eyes  of  young  women,  the  sound  of  their  laughter, 
the  touch  of  their  hands,  stirred  a  strain  in  him  which 
brought  music  to  his  laughing  soul. 

Then  he  relaxed.  His  eyes  grew  dreamy.  He  was 
an  altogether  different  Gaston  Olaf  from  the  one  who 
man-handled  his  fellow  men  on  the  slightest  invita- 
tion. 

He  danced  as  might  have  been  expected  of  him,  with 
a  lightness  and  grace  that  made  his  partner  the  envied 
of  all  women  who  beheld  them.  The  woman  who  had 
Gaston  Olaf  for  a  partner  counted  herself  fortunate; 
and  Gaston  did  his  best  to  dance  with  them  all. 

His  reputation,  his  good  looks,  his  ability  as  a  dancer 
made  him  the  hero  of  every  dance  he  attended,  and 
Gaston  knew  it.  He  knew  what  to  expect  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course  when  he  entered  a  dance  floor,  and  the 
bright,  admiring  looks  from  women's  eyes  were  as 
light  wine  to  him.  Those  looks  never  seriously  turned 
his  head,  yet  without  them  an  evening  to  him  would 
have  been  a  failure. 

Gaston  Olaf  went  to  the  dance  in  Hale's  new  store 
in  the  mood  that  was  customary  to  him  in  approach- 

44 


Brown  Eyes  Can  Be  Cold        45 

ing  a  dance.  He  did  not  enter  until  a  lull  in  the  danc- 
ing, when  the  dancers  were  waiting  expectantly.  The 
crowd — perhaps  a  dozen  women  and  girls  and  fewer 
men — looked  up  at  him  as  he  came  in.  They  did  not 
rush  forward  to  greet  him;  they  did  not  cry  out  his 
name ;  even  the  women  did  not  smile !  Gaston  stopped. 
He  saw  Dr.  Sanders  chatting  with  Hulda ;  Hale,  also, 
he  saw.  His  eyes  ran  around  the  crowd  and  picked 
out  Miss  Havens.  A  little  gasp  of  delight  escaped  Gas- 
ton  at  the  sight  of  her.  He  had  often  dreamed  of 
beautiful  women  beautifully  arrayed,  and  now  his 
dream  had  come  true. 

The  gown  that  Rose  wore  was  a  simple  white  party 
gown,  but  to  Gaston  it  was  a  garment  of  beauty.  Her 
throat  was  bare  and  small  and  round.  On  her  feet 
glistened  tiny  slippers.  And  she  was  laughing  merrily 
and  using  her  eyes  playfully — but  not  for  him. 

At  the  sight  of  him  she  stopped  laughing  and  bowed 
stiffly.  Her  warm  brown  eyes  grew  cold,  and  Gaston's 
gay  manner  had  vanished.  He  stood  looking  at  her 
fixedly.  The  two  fiddlers  on  a  platform  at  the  far 
end  of  the  room  laid  their  bows  on  the  strings.  Gas- 
ton  smiled  suddenly  and  crossed  the  floor  to  her 
side. 

"I  see  you  are  not  as  glad  to  see  me  as  you  were 
this  morning,"  he  said;  "but  won't  you  dance  one 
dance — this  one — with  me,  at  least?" 

She  strove  to  be  severe,  but  the  splendid  audacity, 
the  bright  blue  eyes,  the  flaming  youth  of  the  man, 
brought  the  light  of  mischief  to  her  eyes. 

"You  seem  confident.  Suppose  this  dance  is  taken  ?" 
she  said. 

"That  means  it  isn't." 

"Why,  how  absurd!  You  don't  know  anything 
about  it." 

She  looked  up  at  him  and  laughed,  a  little  nervously. 


46  Gaston  Olaf 

He  held  out  his  arm.     She  looked  at  his  eyes  again. 

"I  tell  you—"  The  music  struck  up—  "Oh,  all 
right." 

She  was  in  his  arms.  They  were  actually  dancing 
together,  and  she  was  laughing  and  conscious  that  he 
danced  very  well. 

"I'm  merely  doing  it  to  avoid  a  scene,"  she  twitted, 
with  a  mischievous  toss  of  her  head.  "I've  no  doubt 
that  you'd  have  been  rude  if  I'd  refused — after  what 
I've  heard  about  you." 

"Dance!"  he  laughed.  "Let  us  dance  while  we're 
dancing.  I  see  that  something  is  wrong ;  I  see  I'm  not 
wanted  here,  but  let's  live  in  the  meantime.  Let's  en- 
joy this  dance  if  we  never  have  another." 

"I  am  not — I'm  not  accustomed  to  being  treated 
like  this." 

"I  am  not  accustomed  to  having  girls  refuse  to  dance 
with  me." 

"Oh,  modest  man !" 

"I  wouldn't  be  honest  if  I  pretended  to  be." 

"Are  you  always  honest?" 

"Always — except  when  it  is  amusing  to  be  some- 
thing else." 

"Are  you  amusing  yourself  now?" 

He  waited  some  steps  before  replying. 

"All  my  life  I  have  lived  to  amuse  myself,"  he  whis- 
pered, his  words  blending  with  the  scraping  of  the  fid- 
dles. "Amusement,  excitement,  thrills,  fun!  They 
have  been  all  that  have  interested  me.  Never,  never, 
until  this  morning  have  I  thought  that  anything  else 
would  be  worth  while." 

She  laughed  shortly. 

"And  then  you  reformed.  I  heard  about  you  in 
MacCarthy's  saloon." 

The  music  stopped.  Gaston  deliberately  led  her  to  a 
corner  where  they  were  alone. 


Brown  Eyes  Can  Be  Cold        47 

"Is  that  it?  Is  that  why  you  were  as  warm  and 
friendly  as  an  icicle  in  your  greeting?" 

"I  did  not  want  to  seem  unfriendly  in  my  greeting," 
she  said  bitterly.  "I  do  not  want  to  appear  ungrateful 
for  what  you  did  this  morning.  I  am  grateful.  I  feel 
under  obligation  to  you.  But  I  am  disappointed  in 
hearing  that  you — that  you — well,  there  is  so  much 
brawling,  and  fighting,  and  disorder  here  now  that 
when  a  new  man  comes  to  town  and  begins " 

"I  see.  When  he  begins  to  take  part  in  saloon 
fights " 

"Why  in  the  world  did  you  do  it?"  she  blazed. 
"How  can  you  do  it?  You  are  a  man  of  intelligence; 
you're  above  the  sort  of  men  who  do  such  things.  Why 
did  you  do  it?" 

Gaston  looked  at  her  so  steadily,  so  burningly  that 
she  shifted  her  gaze. 

"Do  you  want  me  to  tell  you  why  I  did  it  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes.  I'd  like  to  hear  an  apparently  intelligent 
man's  reason  for  creating  disorder." 

"All  right  then'."  His  blue  eyes  burned  her,  and 
she  was  conscious  of  something  in  the  living,  dancing 
depths  of  them  that  stirred  her  uncomfortably.  "I 
hadn't  thought  of  telling  you,  but  now  I  will.  Murphy 
dared  to  put  his  right  arm  around  you.  I  picked  a 
fight  and  broke  his  right  collar-bone  so  he'd  know  that 
was  a  dangerous  thing  to  do  while  I  am  around." 

"How  dared  you?"  she  flared,  but  his  eyes  caught 
hers  and  held  her. 

He  was  too  strong  for  her.  She  wilted  and  grew 
confused. 

"I  do  not  thank  you  for  indulging  in  a  barroom  fight 
on  my  account,"  she  said,  looking  away.  "I — it  dis- 
gusts me.  I  sincerely  hope,  if  that  is  your  kind — if 
you  are  going  to  add  to  the  trouble  we  have  had  here 
—that  you  will  not  be  stopping  long 'in  Havens  Falls. 


48  Gaston  Olaf 

And  if  you  do,  I  hope  you  will  not  intrude  yourself  on 
the  people  who  are  trying  to  make  the  town  decent 
and  peaceable  enough  for  decent  people  to  live  in." 

She  was  gone,  and  Gaston  was  left  alone,  dum- 
founded.  Hale,  his  arm  in  a  sling,  and  his  square, 
sober  face  genial  in  spite  of  its  disfiguration,  and  Dr. 
Sanders  came  up  to  him.  Hale  held  out  his  left  hand. 

"I'm  much  obliged  for  this  morning,  Thorson,"  he 
said  quietly.  "I'll  remember  that." 

"Just  been  telling  Hale  about  your  job  to  get  that 
gang  out  to  camp,"  said  Dr.  Sanders.  "He's  kind  of 
puzzled  about  it.  Hale  knows  the  country  around  here 
like  a  book;  tramps  all  over  it;  says  it's  got  a  great 
future;  iron  in  some  of  the  ridges;  brick-clay  along  the 
river;  and  a  great  farming  country  all  around.  But 
he  doesn't  know  of  any  Thunder  Lake." 

"But  that  doesn't  say  it  isn't  there,"  supplemented 
Hale.  "Only,  I've  never  ran  across  any  lake  with  pine 
left  on  it  within  eight  miles  of  here.  Miss  Havens 
has  got  a  nice  bunch  of  white  pine  up  on  Loon  Lake, 
but  that's  twelve  miles  away,  so  it  couldn't  be  that." 

But  the  blood  was  pounding  in  Gaston's  temples; 
his  throat  was  dry  with  anger.  Never  in  his  life  had 
any  girl  talked  to  him  in  this  fashion.  He  scarcely 
heard  what  Hale  and  Sanders  were  saying.  He  didn't 
trouble  to  hear.  She  had  humiliated  him,  the  proud, 
the  strong  Gaston! 

He  tugged  at  his  collar.  What  mattered  it  what 
Hale  was  saying?  What  had  he  to  do  with  these  town 
people?  He  knew  where  he  belonged;  he  would  go 
there  at  once. 

"Excuse  me,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  bowing  to  Hale 
and  Sanders.  "I've  got  work  waiting  for  me." 

Near  the  door  he  stopped  before  Rose  and  made  a 
low  bow. 

"Good-bye,  Miss  Havens,"  he  said.     "The  brutal, 


Brown  Eyes  Can  Be  Cold        49 

disorderly,  barroom  fighter  now  goes  back  to  his  own 
kind." 

"Oh!"  The  little  muscles  tightened  about  her 
mouth,  but  her  eyes  were  troubled.  "I — I  never  said 
anything  of  the  sort,"  she  stammered. 

But  Gaston  was  on  his  way,  striding  down  the  street 
toward  where  the  red  lights,  the  riot  and  song,  the  rattle 
of  pianos,  the  mad  laugh  of  women,  and  all  the  forces 
of  sin  and  disorder  beckoned  and  threatened. 


CHAPTER  VII 
A  MAN'S  SIZE  JOB 

A  BLIND  man,  provided  his  ears  were  normal, 
would  not  have  had  the  slightest  difficulty  in 
realising  that  something  out  of  the  common  was  brew- 
ing in  Jack  MacCarthy's  saloon  that  night  as  Gaston 
Olaf  came  down  the  street.  First,  the  other  saloons 
in  the  row  were  strangely  deserted  for  that  time  of  the 
night;  second,  bartenders,  gamblers  and  others,  who 
were  unable  to  leave  their  places  of  business,  peered 
from  shuttered  doors  or  curtained  windows  in  the  di- 
rection of  Jack's ;  third,  Jack's  place  was  packed  with 
a  crowd  that  was  strangely  silent. 

The  silence  impressed  Gaston.  It  was  unnatural.  At 
that  time  of  night  MacCarthy's  should  have  been  the 
abode  of  profane  noises. 

Gaston  Olaf  directed  Tom  Pine  to  hie  him  hence  to 
the  company's  stables  and  order  up  the  two  sleighs,  and 
moved  silently  up  to  Jack  MacCarthy's  door.  Not  a 
foot  was  moving  inside,  not  a  man  was  roaring.  It 
was  uncanny. 

Gaston  peered  over  the  low  green  blinds.  One  of 
Murphy's  companions  of  the  morning,  a  crop-haired, 
broken-nosed  man,  was  addressing  the  roomful  of  men. 
Gaston  put  his  ear  to  the  keyhole  and  listened. 

"We  can  get  that  guy  who  put  the  bug  on  Red  Shirt, 
too,"  the  broken-nosed  one  was  growling.  "He's 
up  there  at  the  dance.  Make  'em  all  sick  of  this  burg 
at  the  same  time.  The  orders  is  to  clean  those  good 
people  out  so  strong  that  they'll  be  ready  to  pack  up 

50 


A  Man's  Size  Job  51 

and  hike  to-morrow.  Well,  we'll  do  a  little  personal 
job  on  the  side.  We'll  get  that  big  fresh  guy  at  the 
same  time." 

"Get  him  good !  I'll  stomp  his  fresh  face  in !  Gas- 
bag Thorson !  If  I  get  a  jab  at  him  with  my  chiv,  I'll 
let  the  gas  out  o'  him  all  right !" 

"All  right,  then.  Now  come  on.  We  want  to  take 
'em  by  surprise.  'Bout  four  of  us'll  'tend  to  him  while 
the  others  beats  up  the  rest  of  them " 

Gaston  slipped  in  swiftly,  closed  the  door  behind 
him,  shot  the  bolt  to,  and  stood  with  his  back  against 
the  door,  regarding  them  with  a  look  of  contempt. 
The  leader,  who  had  been  near  the  door,  recoiled  and 
drew  back;  the  rest  stared,  open-mouthed. 

Gaston,  a  sneering  smile  on  his  lips,  took  time  to 
let  his  eyes  single  out  each  man  in  the  throng.  He 
saw  that  there  were  over  twenty  men  present,  and  he 
judged  rightly  that  here  was  the  whole  gang  of  Mur- 
phy's ruffians  assembled.  His  sneer  grew  larger  as  he 
noted  the  faces  of  them.  Whisky,  dirt,  disease,  and 
worse  had  its  mark  upon  all  of  them.  Their  scarred, 
bloated  faces — some  of  them  indubitably  marked  by 
jail — were  at  home  in  MacCarthy's;  they  would  have 
been  out  of  place  out  in  the  woods. 

Gaston  looked  in  vain  for  the  bright,  fearless  eye, 
the  free  swing  of  the  shoulders  that  marked  the  true 
woodsmen.  Lumberjacks  some  of  them  were,  un- 
doubtedly ;  but  not  one  there  was  who  belonged  in  the 
woods. 

Gaston  shook  his  head.  He  had  expected  to  vent 
his  rage  in  a  fight,  but  these  men  weren't  worth  the 
trouble. 

"Of  all  the  low,  miserable  off-scourings  of  hell,  you 
are  the  worst  I've  ever  seen,"  he  said  slowly.  "How 
many  jails  and  lodging-house  saloons  were  combed  to 
produce  such  a  bunch  of  scums?  You  poor,  dirty, 


52  Gaston  Olaf 

whisky-soaked  saloon  sweep-outs!  You  low-down, 
rotten,  sheriff-dodging,  drink-cadging  bunch  of  rats! 
The  best  you've  got  nerve  to  do  is  to  shove  a  knife  in 
some  lad  who's  laid  out  stiff,  and  you — "  his  voice  rose 
suddenly,  like  the  clang  of  sharpened  steel — "and  you 
kid  yourselves  into  talking  about  getting  me!" 

His  eyes  again  roamed  over  them,  a  little  flame  of 
fury  in  them  now,  and  lighted  on  the  gang's  leader. 
The  leader  was  probably  ten  feet  from  Gaston.  He 
shivered  as  Gaston's  eyes  found  him.  He  wanted  to 
sneak  farther  back,  but  those  eyes  held  him.  Gaston 
looked  back  at  the  crowd.  The  leader  sighed  audibly. 

"Why,  you  cheap,  city  crooks!" 

Like  the  flash  of  something  elemental,  his  eyes  still 
on  the  crowd,  Gaston  leaped  forward.  The  gang 
leader  squealed  once.  Then  Gaston  was  back  at  the 
door,  and  his  left  hand  was  holding  the  man,  while 
his  eyes  still  held  the  crowd. 

"If  there  was  a  sound  man  among  you — "  he  flung 
the  man  aside  without  looking,  as  a  busy  terrier  might 
fling  a  rat — "if  you  were  anything  but  a  bunch  of 
yellow  crooks  you'd  have  had  me  down  under  your 
caulks  five  seconds  after  I  entered  this  room." 

The  devils  of  wrath  suddenly  flamed  in  him,  and  he 
raged  across  the  floor,  up  and  down  before  them,  like 
a  tiger  panting  to  leap  upon  its  prey. 

"You  talk  about  going  up  and  getting  me.  I've  come 
after  it  Come  on.  It's  easy  picking.  You  can't  fight, 
but  half  of  you've  got  knives.  Come  on.  You've  stuck 
men  in  the  back  before.  Hop  to  it!  One  of  you'd 
have  a  chance  to  sneak  around  on  me  sure.  Grab  hold. 
I  wouldn't  be  able  to  kick  the  guts  out  of  over  half  of 
you  before  you'd  get  me  down.  Do  it  now,  and  get  it 
over  with,  for,  by  the  Lord!  if  you  ever  try  it  after 
this  and  I  find  it  out,  I'll  hunt  the  last  man  of  you  down 
and  beat  his  brains  out  with  his  own  leg. 


A  Man's  Size  Job  53 

"Last  call.  You'll  never  hold  up  your  heads  to  me 
again  if  you  don't  get  me  now.  You'll  eat  out  of  my 
hand.  You'll  do  what  I  say  or  I'll  put  you  in  the  hos- 
pital. What?  Nothing  doing?"  He  stepped  back. 
"All  right  then.  Get  your  turkeys  together  if  you've 
got  any;  for  I'm  your  new  boss  in  place  of  Murphy, 
and  you're  going  to  start  for  camp  right  now !" 

One  man,  and  one  only,  questioned  this  last  state- 
ment, a  young  man  almost  of  Gaston's  own  size,  with 
his  youth  all  run  to  whisky-bloat,  and  the  shifty  eyes 
of  a  crook. 

"We  start  for  camp  when  we  get  good  'n' 

ready,"  he  growled.  "Ain't  anybody  going  to  hurry 
us."' 

Gaston  whirled  upon  him  and  stood,  head  thrust 
forward,  watching  him  for  a  moment  between  nar- 
rowed lids.  The  young  man  suddenly  felt  sorry  that 
he  had  spoken,  and  sought  to  slink  behind  a  compan- 
ion. 

"Come  here,  you,"  said  Gaston  sharply. 

He  did  not  speak  again.  His  eyes  bored  the  youth 
through,  and  his  forefinger  beckoned  irresistibly. 
Sullenly  the  big  fellow  slouched  forward,  helpless  from 
fright,  yet  defiant  by  right  of  the  youth  left  in  him. 

"What'a  yah  want?"  he  snarled. 

"I  want  to  look  at  you.     Come  nearer." 

The  young  man  stood  before  him,  an  ox  led  to 
slaughter,  his  arms  useless  at  his  sides,  his  eyes  dumbly 
pleading  for  mercy.  The  crew  shuffled  a  little  in  sym- 
pathetic agony  as  Gaston's  cold  stare  froze  the  young 
fellow  into  abject  terror.  Each  instant  they  expected 
to  see  a  flash  of  long  arm,  and  hear  the  youth  thud, 
like  a  stricken  ox,  on  the  floor. 

Gaston  did  not  strike  him.  He  did  worse.  He  re- 
moved the  fellow's  cap  and  tossed  it  away.  He  slapped 
his  face.  He  took  the  victim  by  the  jaw  and  thrust  the 


54  Gaston  Olaf 

head  far  back;  he  pushed  with  the  heel  of  his  hand  on 
the  man's  nose  until  he  seemed  about  to  rub  it  off  his 
face.  He  rubbed  his  ears,  stabbed  his  fingers  lightly 
against  his  eyes,  rocked  his  head  with  light,  contemptu- 
ous cuffs.  It  was  cruel  man-breaking,  carried  to  the 
final  degree  of  subtle  brutality,  and  it  did  its  work. 

"Hit  me !"  blubbered  the  fellow  piteously.  "Hit  me, 
and  have  it  over  with." 

For  reply  Gaston  thrust  him  back  into  the  crowd, 
wiped  his  fingers  carefully  on  his  handkerchief,  and 
with  a  look  of  disgust,  tossed  the  handkerchief  away. 

"Is  there  any  one  else  who  thinks  he  isn't  going  to 
start  for  camp  right  now?"  he  asked  coldly. 

It  was  a  superfluous  question.  They  would  have 
gone  anywhere,  done  anything,  anything  to  be  rid  for 
the  moment  of  the  pressure  of  his  cruel  will.  A  grunt 
of  relief  escaped  from  several  as  the  sleighs  pulled  up 
outside  and  a  teamster,  whip  in  hand,  and  heavily  muf- 
fled, entered. 

"All  right,  boss;  ready  to  start  whenever  you  are," 
he  said.  "Let's  get  going  soon's  we  can;  the  horses 
can't  stand  long  in  this  weather." 

Gaston  promptly  began  to  call  out  the  names  on  the 
list  Taggart  had  given  him.  At  each  name  a  man 
sullenly  went  into  the  back  room,  took  his  bag  or 
satchel  from  the  pile  stored  there,  and  hurried  out  to 
the  sleighs.  Two  failed  to  respond,  being  helpless  from 
liquor. 

"Load  them,"  commanded  Gaston.  "One  in  each 
sleigh." 

When  the  sleighs  were  loaded,  each  with  its  freight 
of  a  dozen  cowed  or  dead-drunk  men,  he  leaped  up  be- 
side Tom  Pine  on  the  driver's  seat  of  the  second  sleigh. 

"Just  a  minute,  Thorson."  Dr.  Sanders,  who  had 
been  watching  the  events  in  MacCarthy's  with  a  grin 
on  his  face,  stepped  up  and  spoke  in  a  low  voice.  "If  I 


A  Man's  Size  Job  55 

were  you  I'd  go  back  to  the  dance — just  for  a  minute 
anyway." 

"Why?" 

"Somebody  wants  to  see  you  before  you  go." 

Gaston's  laughter  was  as  cold  as  the  Winter  night. 

"No,  thanks.  I'm  one  of  the  toughs.  I  don't  be- 
long up  there.  Let  'em  go,  driver." 

"Whoa!  Pull  'em  up  a  second!"  The  doctor  was 
very  much  in  earnest.  "Thorson,  do  you  know  any- 
thing about  the  man  you're  working  for?" 

"You  bet ;  he's  a  man  with  the  hair  on.  He  doesn't 
want  to  make  a  Sunday-school  out  of  the  woods.  Look 
out,  Doc — they'll  step  on  you." 

The  doctor  sprang  back  as  the  prancing  team  moved 
forward. 

"Thorson,"  he  shouted  as  the  sleigh  swept  past,  "I'll 
bet  you  the  drinks  that  some  day  you'll  be  sorry  for 
being  such  an  impetuous  fool!" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A    CROOKED   TRAIL 

G ASTON  heard,  and  laughed  loudly  in  reply. 
"Let  'em  go,  driver!"  he  commanded.     "Get 
out  of  town  as  quick  as  they'll  travel.     Shake  'em  up. 
Plenty  of  time  to  walk  'em  when  we're  out  on  the  road, 
away  from  the  lights." 

"Giddap,  boys!  Steady — steadyee!  Giddap — git 
out  of  there!" 

The  big  logging-teams,  ramping  with  high  feeding 
and  leisure,  nipped  by  the  cold,  and  hitched  to  loads 
that  were  playthings  to  them,  needed  no  second  urging. 
With  smoking  nostrils  and  heads  well  down  they  tore 
down  the  street  for  the  road  up  the  river. 

Maudlin  screams  of  rage,  laughter,  invitation  and 
contempt  came  from  the  red-light  places  as  the  two 
sleigh-loads  pulled  past.  A  few  of  the  men  answered 
back  drunkenly ;  a  medley  of  curses  and  laughter,  flam- 
ing lights,  open  doors.  Then  they  were  past. 

The  shouting  died  down  abruptly.  They  were  on 
the  river  road,  speeding  into  the  silent  darkness  of  a 
tamarack  swamp,  and  the  lights  and  noise  were  sud- 
denly left  behind. 

Gaston  breathed  a  great  sigh  of  relief  as  he  cast  a 
look  upward  at  the  starlit  sky,  which  showed  above 
the  dark  tamaracks. 

"Well,  Tom  Pine,  we  didn't  stay  long  in  that  town," 
he  laughed. 

"Not  long  enough  to  hurt  us  if  we're  through  with 
it  now,"  admitted  Tom  Pine. 

56 


A  Crooked  Trail  57 

"Through  with  it  ?"  A  tiny,  troubling  thought  shot 
through  Gaston's  mind.  Then  he  laughed  it  away. 
"Of  course  we're  through  with  it ;  this  is  the  game  for 
us.  Lay  low  there,  you  bums !  Don't  try  any  flopping 
out  of  the  sleigh  on  me.  Any  man  tries  to  get  away, 
I'll  drag  him  into  camp  at  the  end  of  a  chain  behind 
the  sleigh." 

He  glowed ;  he  laughed.  Life  was  at  its  fierce  flood- 
tide  for  him  for  the  time  being.  No  time  for  regrets, 
for  introspection,  for  thoughts  of  what  might  have 
been.  What  had  he  to  do  with  long-lashed  brown 
eyes,  with  scornful  little  mouths,  with  tiny,  tripping 
feet  ?  He  was  playing  the  stern  old  man-game,  which 
he  was  bred  to  play;  and  the  game  was  strong  drink 
to  his  restless  blood,  blotting  out  memories,  emotions, 
all,  in  the  fierce  exultance  of  the  game.  For  Gaston 
was  one  of  the  battle-breed.  Life  to  him  must  mean 
war  or  it  lost  its  savour ;  and  he  had  that  now — out  in 
the  black,  lawless  woods,  himself  and  two  dozen  men, 
any  one  of  whom  would  knife  him  eagerly  if  for  a 
moment  his  grip  on  them  slackened. 

Gaston  sat  upright  beside  the  driver  and  hummed  an 
old  tune  of  his  rough  Norse  sire's  teaching. 

Mile  after  mile  the  tote-road  ran,  straight  as  a 
sword-gash,  dark  and  narrow  as  the  road  to  the  pit, 
through  the  tamarack  swamp.  The  horses  now  had 
settled  down  to  their  rough,  heavy-limbed  walk,  plump- 
ing doggedly  ahead  in  the  dark,  the  trace-chains  jang- 
ling. 

The  sleighs  were  becoming  silent.  The  drink  was 
dying  out  in  most  of  the  men,  and  the  steady,  even 
slipping  of  the  sleighs  began  to  lull  them  to  slumber. 
To  those  who  remained  awake  the  eerie  humming  from 
the  second  sleigh  reminded  them  that  Gaston  was 
awake  and  watchful.  What  little  rebellion  remained 
in  them  died  rapidly  out.  The  sleighs  went  on  in  si- 


58  Gaston  Olaf 

lence,  save  when  some  man  swore  at  his  neighbour's 
crowding. 

The  ground  at  last  grew  higher,  the  tamaracks  gave 
way  to  hard  wood  and  pine,  and  a  clearing  with  a 
group  of  dark  cabins  showed  in  the  timber. 

"An  old  camp?"  queried  Gaston. 

"Naw!"  laughed  the  driver.  "That's  where  some 
of  those  fellers  that  Hale  brought  up  here  tried  to 
settle  with  their  families." 

"Where  are  they  now?" 

The  driver  snickered. 

"Wall,  they're  sort  of  scattered.  A  couple  of  'em 
are  down  at  the  Falls.  The  rest  figgered  this  country 
was  a  leetle  too  hard  for  'em  and  skedaddled." 

"What  was  the  matter?" 

"Oh,  nothing  much,  nothing  much.  But,  you  see, 
them  cabins  was  on  the  road  to  the  old  man's  camps, 
and  sometimes  the  boys  'ud  stop  in  on  their  way  from 
town  and,  well,  them  settlers  figgered  'twas  healthier 
to  move." 

A  short  distance  farther  on  a  similar  clearing  and 
clump  of  dark  cabins  appeared. 

"What's  this?"  asked  Gaston.     "The  same  thing?" 

"Shore."  The  driver  was  silent  a  moment,  then 
continued,  "That's  where  the  rumpus  happened  that 
started  'em  moving  out — couple  years  back." 

"What  was  that?" 

"Oh,  they  was  kind  of  a  hard  old-timer  named  Olson 
settled  down  there,  and  he  said  that,  by  Gripes!  he'd 
picked  his  claim,  and  he'd  settled  and  was  going  to 
stay  settled,  and  there  wasn't  any  gang  hard  enough 
to  run  him  out  of  the  country.  Some  o'  the  boys  was 
going  back  to  camp  sort  o'  tanked  up  one  night  and 
they  stopped  in  on  him,  and  told  him  this  was  an 
awful  hard  country  and  settlers  wasn't  wanted,  but 


A  Crooked  Trail  59 

they  guessed  they'd  take  his  woman  and  girl  along  to 
camp  to  cook  for  'em. 

"So  they  got  hold  of  the  women,  and  the  old  guy — 
he  was  the  pure  quill  all  right — he  got  hold  of  an  ox- 
yoke,  and  when  the  gang  got  back  to  camp  they  had 
one  of  the  boys  in  the  sleigh  too  dead  to  skin.  He  put 
up  a  great  fight,  the  old  guy  did,  whtn  they  went  back 
to  get  him;  but  they  got  him.  Then  the  rest  of  the 
settlers  got  scared  and  cleared  out." 

Gaston  whistled. 

"That  was  pretty  rough.  Who  owns  the  claims 
now?  Did  they  have  'em  proved  up  before  they  left?" 

"Proved  up,  nothing.  They  ain't  any  proved-up 
claims  'round  here.  It's  all  open  yet,  the  claim  land. 
The  old  man  owns  most  of  the  timber  land  'round  here, 
o'  course.  Then  Havens's  girl's  got  what  her  old  man 
had,  pieces  here  and  there,  and  that  fellow  Hale  got 
some  people  together  and  bought  some  that  had  been 
proved  up,  cleared  land  mostly,  to  make  farms  out  of. 
The  rest  is  open  to  homesteading,  but  there  ain't  none 
of  it  being  done,  except  by  a  few  of  the  old  man's 
standbys." 

"Why  so?" 

"Ain't  I  been  telling  you  it's  unhealthy  for  new  set- 
tlers trying  to  horn  in  here  ?  Like  this  Olson — he  was 
getting  along  to  where  it  looked  like  he  might  stick, 
and  an  accident  happened  to  him,  and  his  widow  and 
girl  are  down  to  the  Point  running  the  hotel." 

"What?    Are  they- " 

"Sure.  Hale  got  the  hotel  put  up  for  'em,  I  under- 
stand. Mebbe  Doc  Sanders  and  old  Perkins,  the  post- 
master, chipped  in  a  little,  too.  Those  fellers  certainly 
like  to  monkey  with  the  buzz-saw.  They  seen  plenty 
signs  by  this  time  of  what  happens  to  folks  that  try 
to  take  holt  here,  unless  they're  working  for  Taggart. 

"Not  that  the  old  man  has  anything  to  do  with  it, 


60  Gaston  Olaf 

of  course,"  he  added  hurriedly,  "but  it  just  happens 
that  way.  The  old  man  kind  of  naturally  gets  hard 
guys  around  him,  and  they  don't  care  for  those  settlers 
and  town  guys  who're  trying  to  tame  this  country 
down.  Just  happens,  you  know.  Old  man  kind  of 
happens  to  get  hard  men  on  his  payroll,  and,"  he  con- 
cluded with  an  admiring  grin  at  Gaston,  "when  I  heard 
he'd  got  you,  I  sez  to  the  boys,  'Boys,  he's  got  the 
hardest  of  'em  all  now,  and  there'll  be  more  softies 
scared  away  from  here  when  they  hear  it,  and  you  darn 
know  it.' ' 

Gaston  slowly  stiffened  himself  to  his  straightest  and 
slowly  turned  toward  the  talkative  figure  beside  him. 

"Pardon  me,  my  friend,"  he  said,  puzzled,  "but  let's 
have  that  over  again.  What  was  it  you  said  about  the 
'softies'?" 

"Why,  I  just  said  there'd  be  some  more  of  'em 
skedaddling  out  of  this  neck  of  the  woods  when  they 
heard  that  Taggart  had  got  you  with  him." 

Gaston  still  was  puzzled. 

"And  why  do  you  say  that,  my  friend  ?  Why  should 
any  of  the  'softies'  skeddadle  because  they  heard  I'm 
working  for  Taggart?" 

<rHaw,  haw !"  The  driver  guffawed  appreciatively. 
"Trying  to  play  fox  with  the  old  tote-teamster,  eh? 
Why  shouldn't  it  make  'em  move?  They'd  heard  of 
you;  the  old  man  had  let  'em  know  that  he  expected 
to  get  a  stiff  guy  in  here  pretty  soon.  Then  you  do 
come,  and  you  do  show  you're  a  stiff  guy,  breaking 
'Red  Shirt'  all  to  pieces,  and  taming  this  gang  of 
wolves;  and,  well,  when  these  would-be  settlers  hear 
of  it  they'll  just  about  figure  the  gang  will  be  too 
strong  for  'em,  and  they'll  give  up." 

Gaston  sat  silent.  He  began  to  hum,  but  the  tune 
ended  in  discord.  Another  spell  of  silence  ensued. 

"My  friend,"  he  said  at  length,  "your  meaning  be- 


A  Crooked  Trail  61 

gins  to  soak  through  my  thick  head  like  rain  through 
a  mackinaw.  You  mean  that  the  settlers  and  the  other 
'softies'  will  think  that  I  am  one  of  the  gang — of 
the  sort  of  a  gang  that  went  to  call  on  old  man  Ol- 
son?" 

"Think  it !"  The  driver  cackled.  "Pretty  foxy,  you 
are.  Of  course;  they'll  know  you're  one  of  the  gang. 
You  can't  keep  that  hid,  boss." 

Gaston  slowly  collapsed  until  he  sat  hunch-shoul- 
dered with  bowed  head.  He  tried  to  hum  again,  but 
the  wild  notes  died  in  his  throat.  He  tried  to  whistle 
and  could  not.  He  sat  silent  for  a  space,  and  then  he 
exploded — 

"Hell!" 

As  suddenly  as  he  had  exploded  he  grew  silent  and 
thoughtful. 

"What  'smatter,  Gaston  Olaf  ?"  muttered  Tom  Pine 
sleepily. 

"Nothing,  nothing  is  ever  the  matter,"  snapped  Gas- 
ton.  "Not  unless  a  man  is  fool  enough  to  stop  and 
think.  Shake  'em  up,  driver!  How  long  you  going  to 
take  to  cover  eight  miles?" 

The  drivers  had  pulled  up  on  the  crest  of  a  long, 
steep  ridge  to  give  the  horses  a  moment's  breathing 
spell,  and  as  Gaston  looked  back  over  the  direction  they 
had  come  he  saw  that  the  ridge  topped  all  the  sur- 
rounding country.  On  a  clear  day  a  man  might  stand 
there  and  look  over  the  tree-tops  and  see  even  as  far 
as  Havens  Falls.  But  now  it  was  very  dark  on  the 
ridge-top,  and  no  eyes  could  make  out  the  figure  that 
suddenly  hailed  them  from  the  brush : 

"Taggart's  teams?" 

The  voice  was  deep  and  heavy,  and  obviously  dis- 
guised, and  yet  to  Gaston  there  was  a  tone  in  it  which 
he  seemed  to  have  heard  somewhere  before,  though  he 
could  not  then  remember  where  or  when. 


62  Gaston  Olaf 

"None  of  your business?"  he  snapped  back  at 

the  darkness. 

Came  a  chuckle  in  reply — 

"Oh,  all  right." 

Then  he  heard  the  crackle  of  breaking  brush,  and  the 
plup,  plup,  plup  of  snow-shoes  slipping  briskly  away. 

"Who  was  that — one  of  the  gang?"  asked  Gaston. 

"I  donno,"  said  the  driver  carelessly.  "But  you 
was  saying  we  was  taking  too  long  to  make  eight 
miles,"  he  continued  quickly.  "Now  right  from  here 
where  we're  standing  to  Havens  Falls,  that's  five  miles 
by  the  road  we  come.  Now  we  go  down  this  ridge, 
that's  a  mile;  then  we  swing  off  and  follow  the  West 
Branch  to  the  lake,  that's  about  two'n  a  half,  and  then 
to  the  camp,  at  the  far  end  of  the  lake,  that's  another 
mile.  'Bout  eight  miles  and  a  half,  I  make  it  to  this 
new  camp,  and  we'll  be  there  inside  of  half  a  hour. 
No,  I  can't  say  I  think  we're  taking  long  on  the  road, 
Boss.  Giddap,  boys — go  'long !" 

Gaston  made  no  reply.  Something  was  whispering 
to  him,  telling  him  to  keep  his  eyes  and  ears  open  and 
his  mouth  shut;  that  something  remarkable  lay  be- 
fore him,  as  often  in  the  woods  his  keen  intuition  or 
woods-sense  often  warned  him  of  the  presence  of  big 
animals,  or,  when  on  the  river,  he  sensed  the  presence 
of  dangerous  rapids  ahead  long  before  the  roar  of  the 
waters  came  to  his  ears. 

Five  miles  from  the  ridge  to  Havens  Falls!  And 
the  driver  said  it  earnestly,  as  if  he  thought  he  would 
be  believed.  And  that  voice  from  the  dark  on  top  of 
the  hill.  What  of  that?  Something  strange  was  in 
the  air. 

Gaston  crossed  his  legs  contentedly.  He  began  to 
hum.  The  tune  had  come  back  to  him  now.  Above 
the  plump  of  the  horses'  hoofs,  the  rattle  of  trace- 
chains  and  the  whine  of  sleigh-runners  rose  his  hum- 


A  Crooked  Trail  63 

ming.  It  ascended  in  the  dark  woods  like  some  chant 
of  battle,  as  wild,  as  reckless,  as  lawless  as  the  primi- 
tive woods  themselves.  Gaston  was  happy.  He  was 
driving  toward  the  unknown.  But  he  had  sensed 
enough  of  what  lay  ahead  to  know  that  it  promised  ex- 
citement. 

At  the  foot  of  the  ridge  they  came  to  a  cluster  of 
buildings,  apparently  an  old  logging-camp,  on  the 
banks  of  a  small  river,  and  to  Gaston  it  seemed  that 
the  road  ended  there.  Beyond  lay  the  close-standing 
tamaracks  of  the  river  bottom,  and  he  looked  in  vain 
for  the  break  in  their  ranks  that  marked  the  presence 
of  a  road.  To  his  astonishment  the  first  sleigh  pulled 
straight  toward  the  log  wall  of  what  was  apparently 
a  bunk  house,  built  close  to  the  river. 

"Hi!"  called  the  lead  teamster  gruffly. 

"All  right,"  came  a  reply  from  within  the  building, 
and  then  a  section  of  the  wall — a  section  which  Gaston 
now  saw  was  merely  slabs  instead  of  solid  logs — slid 
aside  like  a  barn  door  on  rollers,  and  through  the  open- 
ing gleamed  the  white  ice  of  the  frozen  river. 

"Come  ahead.     Ice  safe — keep  going." 

The  teams  lunged  through  the  door  on  the  trot. 
Gaston  saw  that  the  building  had  been  a  bunk  house, 
but  that  now  the  wall  nearest  the  river  had  been  torn 
down. 

Across  the  river  there  was  no  made  road.  The 
teams  quickly  pulled  up  to  a  walk  and  began  warily  to 
pick  their  way  along  a  crude  wagon  trail  through  the 
tamaracks. 

"No  tote  road?"  asked  Gaston  casually. 

"No  tote  road,"  agreed  the  driver. 

"Not  much  teaming  up  this  way?" 

"Ain't  calcilated  to  be.  Small  camp,  short  job.  Be 
cleaned  up  in  a  month  or  six  weeks,  'bout  the  time  the 


64 


Gaston  Olaf 


ice  goes  out.  Camp's  all  fitted  up.  No  need  for  much 
teaming." 

Gaston  resumed  his  humming. 

"That  was  a  new  one  on  me,  that  building  with 
the  road  through  it,"  he  laughed,  after  a  while. 
"What's  the  idea?" 

"Oh,  I  donno."  Obviously  the  driver  did  not  wish 
for  further  conversation.  "You  better  ask  the  old  man 
if  you  hanker  to  know." 

"All  right,"  said  Gaston,  "I  will." 

He  did  not  speak  again  until  they  reached  their 
destination,  but  his  eyes  and  his  thoughts  were  busy. 
And  he  noted  as  they  pulled  across  the  lake  and  reached 
the  camp  at  its  head  that  the  timber  that  stood  large, 
straight  and  fine  all  around  was  not  Norway  pine,  but 
white  pine. 

Lanterns  flashed  at  their  arrival.  A  man,  who  in 
build  and  vicious  expression  was  a  counterpart  of  Red 
Shirt  Murphy,  came  out  and  took  charge. 

"Got  'em  out,  did  you?"  he  greeted  Gaston.  "All 
right,  I'll  unload  'em.  Fine  bunch  of  men  for  the 

woods,  ain't  they  ?  We'll  give  'em to-morrow  to 

start  'em  in  right.  Hear  you  busted  Red  Shirt  up  a 
little."  Gaston  wondered  how  the  news  had  come  out 

there,  but  said  nothing.  "He's  my  brother,  the ! 

They  call  me  'Black'  Murphy.  Wish  you'd  broke  his 
neck." 

Gaston  and  Tom  Pine  stood  to  one  side  and  watched 
the  unloading  of  the  cowed,  shivery  gang.  Most  of 
the  men  were  able  to  stagger  stiffly  to  their  bunks  with- 
out assistance,  but  a  few,  the  teamsters,  under  Mur- 
phy's direction,  dragged  like  so  many  sacks  of  grain 
through  the  snow  and  dumped  on  the  bunk-house  floor. 
When  the  task  was  completed  Gaston  turned  to  Tom 
Pine,  who  was  standing  alone,  looking  around  in  puz- 
zled fashion. 


A  Crooked  Trail  65 

"Tom  Pine/'  he  said,  "how  long  have  you  been  in 
the  woods?" 

"Longer  than  you've  been  alive,  Gaston  Olaf,"  re- 
plied Tom. 

"Do  you  see  any  Norway  pine  around  here?" 

"Nope." 

"And  did  you  ever  see  anybody  make  such  crooked 
trails  as  this  in  the  loggirig  business  ?" 

Tom  Pine  scratched  his  head  thoughtfully. 

"Once,  Gaston  Olaf,  once  I  did." 

"Where  was  that?" 

"One  time — one  time  old  Ezra  Howlinson,  him 
that's  Senator  Howlinson  now,  made  a  raid  on  the 
Couderay  Indian  Reservation  timber.  He  rounded  up 
a  lot  of  bad  ones  who  were  hiding  from  the  sheriff 
mostly,  and  did  the  thing  on  the  quiet.  I  was  drunk, 
and  I  joined  in  with  'em.  I  was  young  then,  Gaston 
Olaf." 

"Yes." 

"Ye-es.    And  do  you  know  what,  Gaston  Olaf  ?" 

"What?" 

"I  been  thinking — I  been  thinking  about  old  Ezra's 
raid  ever  since  that  guy  hollered  at  us  on  top  of  the 
ridge." 


CHAPTER  IX 
"NOT  A  WHITE  MAN'S  OUTFIT" 

A  VOICE  woke  Gaston  next  morning  in  his  upper 
bunk,  a  voice  thin  and  querulous,  and  cold  as 
ice.  It  was  still  dark,  and  Gaston  had  slept  little,  but 
that  voice  woke  him  like  a  dash  of  cold  water. 

"Well,  well,  Murphy;  so  you  don't  think  much  of 
the  crew  I've  sent  you?"  The  voice  came  from  the 
corner  of  the  room  near  Gaston's  bunk.  "Well,  well, 
we  all  have  our  tastes.  For  instance,  Murphy,  there 
was  a  gentleman  in  Havens  Falls  last  week  who  actu- 
ally was  anxious  for  your  company.  He  was  indeed. 
He  seemed  to  hanker  for  you.  Now  for  myself,  Mur- 
phy, it  is  a  trial  to  be  forced  to  spend  even  a  few  min- 
utes in  your  loathesome  society.  But  this  gentleman, 
he  asked  for  you  diligently.  He  even  wished  you  to  ac- 
company him  back  to  LaCroix  County,  Murphy.  It 
seems  there  was  a  little  safe-blowing  done  back  at  the 
bank  there.  Also,  at  the  same  time,  a  murder.  Yes, 
yes.  I  forgot  to  say  that  the  gentleman  was  the  sheriff 
of  LaCroix  County.  It  was  the  marshal  you  killed! 
Heh,  heh,  heh!" 

"He — he  went  away  again — the  sheriff — Mr.  Tag- 
gart?"  That  was  Murphy's  voice,  barely  able  to  utter 
the  words. 

"Heh,  heh!  The  rope,  eh,  Murphy,  the  new,  stiff 
rope,  and  the  black  cap,  and  a  little  platform — well, 
well !  We  won't  speak  of  that.  I  imagine  it  isn't  pleas- 
ant to  you.  No,  Murphy,  we  won't  speak  of  it  again 
unless  you  fail  to  get  full  work  out  of  the  crew  I've 

66 


"Not  a  White  Man's  Outfit"      67 

given  you;  unless  you  fail  to  have  the  lake  full  of  logs 
by  the  time  the  river's  open;  unless  you  fail  to  keep 
every  man  jack  in  camp  until  the  job  is  done.  In  short, 
Murphy,  unless  you  fail  to  please  me." 

"I'll  do  it,  Mr.  Taggart,"  said  Black  Murphy  in  his 
dry  voice.  "I'll  murder  any  man  who  begins  to  get 
funny  and  ask  questions." 

"No  details,  Murphy,  please.  I  do  not  wish  to  know 
how  you  do  things.  I  merely  wish  them  done.  Now, 
as  for  getting  the  work  out  of  the  men,  I  have  got  this 
young  man,  Thorson.  I  am  something  of  a  judge  of 
men,  Murphy,  and  I  am  sure  this  young  man  will  make 
the  best  man-breaker  and  man-driver  I  have  ever  seen 
in  the  woods.  His  partner  is  a  nonentity ;  you  can  let 
him  drive  team.  But,  Thorson,  Murphy,  you  must 
bow  to  Thorson.  Yes,  Murphy,  with  proper  educa- 
tion I  am  sure  I  can  make  a  better  brute  out  of  him 
even  than  of  you. 

"So,  remember,  Murphy,  I  will  have  no  quarrelling 
with  him.  Let  all  be  peace  between  you.  Heh,  heh, 
heh!  Not  much  peace  for  a  man  when  he  thinks  of 
the  rope,  is  there,  Murphy?  Well,  well!  And  come 
over  the  hill  and  report  to-night.  I'll  stay  there  till  to- 
morrow. Now  roust  the  men  out  as  soon  as  I'm  out 
of  camp,  and  get  them  to  work." 

There  was  the  sound  of  steps  as  they  both  cautiously 
left  the  bunk-house.  After  a  while  Murphy  returned ; 
and  then  his  voice  rang  out  harshly : 

"Roll  out!  Roll  out!"  He  tramped  around  the 
room,  making  a  din  to  wake  the  dead-drunk.  "Get  out 
and  get  at  it!  Roll  out  before  you  get  cold  water  on 
you!" 

Gaston  leaped  down  as  if  suddenly  awakened. 

"Hello,  boss,"  he  greeted  sleepily.  "Want  me  to 
help  get  'em  out?" 

"Sure,  if  you  want  to,"  replied  Murphy,  and  to- 


68  Gaston  Olaf 

gether  they  began  to  drag  the  reluctant  ones  from  their 
bunks. 

Gaston  worked  with  a  will.  He  was  anxious  to  see 
what  Taggart  intended  for  him,  and  he  realised  that 
his  role  for  the  present  must  be  that  of  the  apparently 
unthinking  driver  of  men.  He  chuckled  at  the  spec- 
tacle presented  by  the  men  at  the  breakfast  table.  The 
alcoholic  ebullition  and  spirit  of  the  night  before  had 
burned  out,  and  the  men  were  down  to  their  true  level. 
Shuffling,  cringing,  shivering,  they  staggered  in  to  eat ; 
broken  men,  shaky  for  want  of  the  morning  drink, 
every  last  one  of  them. 

"Boys,"  said  Black  Murphy,  as  they  swilled  their 
food,  "you've  had  your  good  spree.  You've  been  on  it 
a  week.  Now  you're  going  to  work.  This  is  a  short 
job.  We'll  knock  it  down  in  a  month  if  we  work. 
Then  you  can  all  go  back  to  town.  You've  all  come 
out  here  pledged  to  stay  till  that's  done.  Understand? 
There's  no  leaving  camp  till  the  job's  done.  That's  the 
bargain,  and  the  man  who  tries  to  sneak  out — well, 
he'll  never  make  it,  that's  all.  That's  the  old  man's 
orders.  Do  you  all  hear  me  ?" 

"That's  the  bargain,"  growled  a  few  in  reply. 
"We're  next." 

"And  there  won't  anybody  come  out  here  looking 
for  anybody  if  you  don't  get  funny,"  supplemented 
Murphy. 

There  was  a  ducking  of  frowzled  heads  at  this,  as  if 
each  man  suddenly  grew  sensitive. 

"And  now  having  heard  that  you're  safe  here,  you 
cheap  crooks" — it  was  Gaston  Olaf  speaking  now — 
"having  heard  that  no  sheriff  will  be  allowed  to  come 
out  and  get  any  of  you,  it's  time  you  got  out  and  hus- 
tled. Where  do  you  start  logging,  Murphy?" 

"Right  outside  of  camp,  along  the  lake.  We'll  log 
in  from  the  lake." 


"Not  a  White  Man's  Outfit"      69 

"All  right.  You  throw  'em  at  the  work,  and  I'll 
see  they  keep  going.  You  set  the  wedge,  I'll  drive  it 
in.  How's  that?" 

"Suits  me,"  said  Murphy.  "Come  on,  boys,  pick 
out  your  tools  and  get  started." 

It  was  boy's  play,  the  logging  that  was  laid  out  for 
them.  The  trees  grew  to  the  very  edge  of  the  bluffs 
overlooking  the  small,  shut-in  lake.  To  fell  the  trees, 
log  them  up,  skid  them  to  the  edge  of  the  bluff  and  roll 
them  over  was  all  that  was  required.  There  were  no 
roads  to  be  built,  little  swamping  to  be  done,  no  load- 
ing. 

The  pine — white  pine  all  of  it — grew  tall  and  free, 
unhampered  by  small  trees  or  underbrush,  and  Gaston 
saw  that  even  the  gang  of  wrecks  he  had  brought  out 
from  town  would  turn  out  a  respectable  cut  each  day. 
As  the  great  tops  of  the  first  trees  began  swaying  as 
the  saws  rasped  through,  he  looked  from  their  noble 
trunks  to  the  men  who  were  nibbling  with  such  deadly 
effect  at  their  butts,  and  he  turned  away  with  an  ex- 
clamation of  disgust. 

"That's  the  way  I  feel,  too,  Gaston  Olaf,"  said  Tom 
Pine,  halting  at  Gaston's  side  the  team  he  had  been 
given  to  skid  with.  "I  never  did  like  to  see  the  big 
trees  go  down,  but  for  pines  like  them" — he  looked 
with  true  reverence  up  at  the  magnificent  trunks — "to 
be  downed  by  fellows  like  these,  it — it  don't  seem  to 
jibe.  I — I  don't  feel  much  like  I  want  to  be  in  on  this 
job,  Gaston  Olaf.  There's  a  stink  around  here,  with 
that  lie  about  the  kind  of  pine  here,  and  all.  It's  not  a 
white  man's  outfit.  You  know  that  yourself." 

"You're  hard  to  please,  Tom  Pine,"  laughed  Gas- 
ton.  "When  we  were  in  town  you  wanted  to  get  back 
into  the  woods.  Now  we're  here  and  you  want  to 
travel  again.  What's  the  matter:  got  a  feeling  that 
something  different  is  going  to  happen  here,  too  ?" 


7O  Gaston  Olaf 

"Well,  it  did  happen  in  town,  didn't  it?" 

"You  bet!  And  that's  what  I'm  looking  for  here 
too.  I  want  something  different  to  happen,  Tom  Pine, 
something  that  will  tell  me  why  this  outfit  makes  such 
funny,  crooked  trails.  You  skid  logs  and  say  nothing 
for  a  time,  Tom  Pine.  I'm  going  to  look  around.  I 
got  a  scent  that  may  take  me  to  where  the  thing  that 
made  these  trails  is  bedding  down." 

"And  then  what?" 

"Then  what?  Why,  some  excitement,  let's  hope, 
Tom  Pine.  What  else  would  I  hunt  the  end  of  the 
trail  for  ?  Fun,  excitement !  Tom  Pine,  I  got  a  hunch 
that  there's  a  whole  raft  of  it  somewhere  before  us." 

When  the  opportunity  offered,  Gaston  slipped  out 
of  sight  of  the  men  into  the  forest.  He  was  curious 
about  Taggart.  Where  was  "over  the  hill,"  where 
Murphy  was  to  report  to  Taggart  that  evening? 

There  were  plenty  of  hills  about,  in  fact  the  lake 
was  ringed  with  hills,  but  out  in  the  untracked  snow 
of  the  woods  Gaston  looked  only  for  Taggart's  trail. 
He  found  it  at  last  on  the  ice  of  a  tiny  water  course, 
where  the  tracks  scarcely  showed,  and  he  followed  it 
away  from  camp  at  full  speed. 

The  trail  curved  for  half  a  mile  around  the  foot  of  a 
hill,  then  dipped  through  a  ravine,  and  seemed  to  end 
abruptly  in  a  close-growing  clump  of  small  cedars, 
snugly  hidden  in  a  tiny  valley. 

A  column  of  blue  smoke,  rising  from  the  centre 
of  the  cedars,  drew  Gaston  forward.  He  left  the  trail 
and  circled  carefully,  skilfully  keeping  himself  hidden, 
and  crept  slowly  forward  under  the  low-hanging 
branches  into  the  heart  of  the  thicket.  He  had  not 
gone  far  when  he  crouched  suddenly,  and  sat  staring 
in  amazement.  Before  him,  hidden  from  the  world 
by  four  walls  of  trees,  lay  a  small  clearing,  and  in  the 
clearing  was  a  comfortable,  well-built  log  house. 


"Not  a  White  Man's  Outfit"       71 

Compared  to  the  average  settler's  cabin  the  place 
even  manifested  evidences  of  taste,  wealth  and  luxury 
on  the  part  of  the  owner.  Large-paned  windows  in 
solid,  planed  frames;  a  high-pitch  roof,  neatly  shin- 
gled; a  milled  door;  lace  curtains  on  the  windows;  and 
a  neat  brick  chimney  topping  it  all,  were  among  the 
surprising  differences  between  this  house  and  the  com- 
mon log  cabins  of  the  country.  The  place  was  not 
builded  as  were  other  cabins  of  the  big  woods — a 
mere,  heavy-walled  shelter  against  cruel  Winter 
weather.  It  was  built  for  the  delight  of  the  ones  who 
lived  in  it,  and  the  job  was  well  done. 

The  artistic  side  of  Gaston's  nature  was  moved.  He 
saw  that  the  door  stood  slightly  ajar,  and  began  to 
crawl  toward  a  position  where  it  might  be  possible  to 
peek  inside  the  house.  Suddenly  from  within  there 
came  to  his  ears  the  rattle  of  a  piano,  snatches  of  song, 
and  the  tinkling,  reckless  laughter  of  women. 

"What's  this— what's  this?" 

The  blood  in  Gaston's  young  veins  was  leaping  in 
response  to  the  music,  the  laughter  of  women.  He 
crouched,  with  his  hands  parting  the  branches  before 
him. 

And  he'll  never  come  back,  no,  he'll  never  come  back, 

Your  lover  you'll  ne'er  see  alive. 
Then  another  I'll  get,  he  will  help  me  forget 

My  lover  who  went  down  in  the  drive. 

"Whoop-la !"  whispered  Gaston.  It  was  a  woman — 
nay,  a  girl — who  was  singing  the  crude  old  song,  and 
her  voice  seemed  to  float  out  and  draw  Gaston  forward. 
He  could  never  resist  that  song.  It  had  in  its  simple 
notes  the  joy  and  pang,  the  unreckoning  loves,  the 
sudden  deaths  of  the  life  of  the  woods. 

He  leaned  forward  eagerly,  too  eagerly,  for  his  head 
showed  clear  of  the  branches.  He  saw  his  mistake  and 


72  Gaston  Olaf 

tried  to  draw  back,  but  he  was  too  late.  The  door 
flung  open  sharply.  Devil  Dave  Taggart,  his  bulk 
filling  the  doorway,  looked  out,  laughing. 

"Come  out  of  there,  Thorson.  Come  out,  man.  and 
come  in !"  he  called. 

His  voice  was  full  and  commanding.  It  was  the 
voice  that  had  hailed  the  sleighs  on  the  hill  the  night 
before. 


DEVIL  DAVE  AT   PLAY 

IT  was  a  different  Taggart  who  stood  there  in  the 
doorway.  Instead  of  the  ministerial  frock-coat, 
he  wore  a  flaming  red  sweater.  He  stood  with  his 
head  up,  his  shoulders  straight  and  broad,  and  he  was 
laughing  in  great,  open-mouthed  guffaws.  There  was 
no  whine,  no  pettiness  in  his  voice  now;  instead  he 
roared  like  a  bull. 

His  thick  beard  was  disordered  and  blazing;  his 
face  was  flushed  and  red;  and  Gaston  saw  to  his 
amazement  that  he  had  been  mistaken  when  he  judged 
Taggart  to  be  an  elderly,  decrepit  man. 

Gaston  strode  forward  without  hesitation.  He  had 
sprung  to  his  feet  the  instant  he  saw  that  he  was  dis- 
covered, and  his  eyes  had  begun  to  blaze  at  the  insinua- 
tion in  Taggart's  first  words.  More  than  this,  he 
realised  that  he  was  caught  in  an  undignified  position, 
and  the  touch  of  vanity  in  his  character  set  his  blood 
boiling. 

"You  don't  have  to  holler  at  me,  my  hairy  old  friend. 
My  ears  are  first-rate,"  he  growled  as  he  came  up  to 
the  door.  "I'm  not  asking  for  a  bid  in.  If  I'd  wanted 
to  come  in  I'd  have  come.  But  when  I  see  a  trail  that 
interests  me,  I've  got  a  habit  of  doing  a  little  tracking, 
and  no  favours  asked  from  anybody  in  the  world." 

"Ho,  ho,  my  boy !  Spoken  well ;  spoken  as  I  want 
you  to  speak!  Give  me  your  paw  and  forget  your 
hair-trigger  temper." 

Yes,  it  was  a  very  different  Taggart,  indeed.  The 

73 


74  Gaston  Olaf 

ice  had  thawed.  The  Winter  had  gone  out  of  his  eyes 
and  lips.  It  was  full  Summer;  the  river  of  life  was 
running  warm  in  him.  The  warmth  encompassed 
Gaston  as  Taggart  threw  his  long  arm  around  his 
shoulder.  The  genial  laughter  of  the  old  man  was  like 
a  Summer  breeze. 

"Come  in;  come  in,  boy!  Just  in  time.  We'll  have 
a  celebration." 

Before  Gaston  realised  what  was  happening  he  was 
in  the  house,  the  door  was  shut,  and  he  was  joining  in 
the  laughter,  warmed  to  the  heart,  and  swept  off  his 
feet  by  the  new  Taggart' s  geniality  and  magnetism. 
His  eyes  took  in  the  room  at  a  glance,  and  he  blinked 
and  removed  his  cap.  The  room  was  an  anomaly  there 
in  the  woods.  It  had  an  oiled  hard-wood  floor,  plas- 
tered walls,  and  delicate  blue  wall-paper.  There  were 
easy  chairs,  cushions,  pictures,  shaded  lamps,  a  piano, 
rugs,  and  a  canary  in  a  gilded  cage.  A  nest  of  luxury, 
and  two  women  at  the  piano  to  complete  the  picture. 
One  of  the  women  was  tall,  dark,  majestic  of  propor- 
tions, set  of  feature,  and  probably  over  thirty-five. 
The  other  was  small,  plump  and  blonde,  childish  of 
face,  and  probably  twenty. 

"My  sister,"  said  Taggart,  indicating  the  tall  woman. 
"And  my  little  niece,  Carrie." 

Oh,  another  man  I'll  get ;  he  will  help  me  forget 
My  lover  who  went  down  in  the  drive. 

sang  the  young  girl,  with  her  eyes  on  Gaston. 

"Another  bottle  we'll  get,"  laughed  Taggart.  "Sit 
down,  Thorson." 

The  dark  woman  rose  with  a  weary  smile  on  her 
lips  and  stepped  out  of  the  room,  to  return  in  a  moment 
with  a  bottle  of  champagne.  Soon  the  glasses  were 
brimming  with  the  bubbling  stuff,  and  Taggart  drank, 


Devil  Dave  at  Play  75 

filled  his  glass  and  drank  again,  smiling  as  the  bubbles 
went  down  his  huge,  hairy  throat. 

"Drink,  boy,  drink!"  he  urged.  "Don't  look  at  it; 
don't  save  it.  The  cellar's  full  of  it.  Throw  it  into 
you." 

Taggart  had  had  much  champagne  this  morning, 
Gaston  now  saw.  It  had  warmed  him,  expanded  him, 
made  him  blustering  and  reckless. 

"The  old  Adam,  Thorson,"  he  chuckled,  "the  old 
Adam  must  out  now  and  then.  'Tisn't  good  for  man 
to  keep  the  old  Adam  suppressed  too  long.  On  the 
other  hand,  'It  is  not  for  kings,  O  Lemuel,  it  is  not  for 
kings  to  indulge  in  strong  drink' — in  public.  Conse- 
quently I  come  out  to  my — to  my  sister's  here,  every 
once  in  a  while  and  turn  old  Adam  loose.  'All  work 
and  no  play,'  you  know;  this  is  my  way  of  playing. 
Another  bottle,  Dell.  Carrie,  you  may  have  a  bottle  of 
root-beer.  Little  nieces  mustn't  have  strong  drink." 

The  girl  laughed  and  the  dark  woman  smiled  her 
enigmatic  smile. 

"Thorson,  a  toast!"  Taggart  waved  his  glass  so 
the  wine  flew  about  the  room.  "A  man's  toast,  Thor- 
son; a  hard  man's  toast.  Join  me?" 

"You  know  me,"  laughed  Gaston. 

"I  think  so,"  Taggart  nodded  soberly.  "I  think  I 
do.  You  are  a  man  of  my  own  calibre.  Murphy — 
the  two  Murphys — and  the  rest  of  my  gang,  they're 
just  scum.  You — Thorson — you  ought  to  go  far  with 
me.  There's  room  for  two  big  men  in  this  neck  of 
the  woods,  Thorson — just  two.  Not  any  more;  not 
a  lot  of  pulling,  grubbing  settlers ;  not  a  lot  of  whining 
storekeepers.  But  plenty  room  enough  for  two.  I'm 
Number  One ;  there's  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  be 
Number  Two.  But  there's  only  one  way  to  do  it: 
that's  to  keep  the  other  fellows  out.  Keep  'em  scared 
off.  Keep  'em  from  getting  a  foothold.  Settlers — ha, 


76  Gaston  Olaf 

ha!  They're  discovering  what  they'll  meet  with  when 
they  try  to  come  ploughing  up  my  stamping-ground." 

He  lolled  in  his  chair,  huge,  barbaric,  his  red-grey 
beard  bristling,  the  two  fang-like  teeth  showing  be- 
neath it,  his  eyes  red  and  leering. 

"I  want  this  country  to  stay  the  way  it  is!"  he  ex- 
ploded. "I  want  it  with  the  bark  on.  So  do  you — I 
know  that !  You  and  I  can  keep  it  that  way,  Thorson. 
And  we're  going  to  do  it." 

He  chuckled  in  his  beard. 

Oh,  fill  up  your  glasses  steady, 
And  hold  up  your  glasses  high. 
Here's  to  the  dead  already, 
And  here's  to  the  next  man  to  die. 

"Ha,  ha!  Pretty  little  thing,  isn't  it,  Thorson? 
Who's  going  to  be  the  next  ?  Well,  any  man  who  tries 
to  come  nosing  around  my  stamping-ground.  And 
that's  Hale.  I  hear  he  started  this  way  this  morning. 
Well,  we're  ready  for  him.  Law  ?  I  make  the  law  up 
here.  And  it's  against  my  law  to  try  to  keep  me  from 
doing  anything  I  want  to  do." 

The  girl  was  at  the  piano,  singing  and  laughing; 
the  dark  woman  was  bringing  another  bottle  of  wine. 
The  room  was  heavy  with  languorous  perfume,  and 
the  wine  had  begun  to  warm  Gaston's  mind.  And  yet 
he  was  not  at  ease.  Here  was  music  and  wine,  woman 
and  song.  He  was  young  and  the  blood  in  his  veins 
coursed  warmly.  And  yet  he  rebelled  against  all  this. 

"I've  got  to  get  back  to  camp,"  he  said  suddenly. 
"I'd  only  intended  to  be  gone  a  few  minutes.  Mur- 
phy's grip  on  the  men  isn't  strong  enough  to  leave  him 
alone.  If  you'll  excuse  me,  I'll  be  going." 

"All  right."  Taggart  was  all  business  again.  "Log- 
ging is  logging." 

The  dark  woman  smiled  her  strange  smile. 


Devil  Dave  at  Play  77 

Gaston  went  back  to  camp  as  straight  and  as  rapidly 
as  his  legs  could  carry  him. 

"Tom  Pine,"  he  said,  finding  the  little  man  alone, 
"something  serious  is  the  matter  with  me." 

"Yes?"  said  Tom  Pine. 

"Tom  Pine,"  continued  Gaston,  "I've  always  been 
something  of  a  roarer  when  I  had  the  chance,  haven't 
I?" 

"Well,  you  ain't  exactly  dead  when  you've  got  a 
chance  to  liven  up,  if  that's  what  you  mean." 

"Did  you  ever  know  me  to  act  bashful  when  I  had 
wine  and  music  and  pretty  women  fairly  thrown  at 
me?" 

Tom  Pine  spat. 

"What's  eating  you,  Gaston  Olaf  ?"  he  demanded. 

"We're  going  to  travel,"  said  Gaston  suddenly.  Tom 
Pine  dropped  the  reins  eagerly.  "You  were  right, 
Tom  Pine.  This  is  no  white  man's  outfit ;  it's  no  place 
for  us.  Taggart  had  me  sized  up  wrong  when  he  sent 
word  for  me.  We're  rough,  Tom  Pine,  and  we're 
tough ;  but  I  don't  think  we  can  work  for  Devil  Dave." 

"I  said  we  couldn't,"  chimed  in  Tom.  "There's  a 
kind  of  a  stink  around  here  that  I  don't  like." 

"You  said  it,"  agreed  Gaston.    "Ready  to  travel?" 

Tom  nodded.  Gaston  turned  the  team  toward  the 
stables  and  slapped  them  with  the  reins. 

"Giddap!"  They  waited  and  watched  to  see  that 
the  horses  were  travelling  for  shelter.  "Now,  come 
on." 

Gaston  swiftly  led  the  way  into  the  timber  out  of 
sight  of  the  men  of  the  camp,  Tom  Pine  following, 
silent  and  unquestioning,  as  was  his  wont  on  their 
travels. 

"We'll  hit  for  the  creek,  then  down  to  that  old 
shack  that  we  drove  through,  and  then  down  the  road 
to  town." 


78  Gaston  Olaf 

"Sure  thing,"  said  Tom  Pine.  "But  there'll  prob- 
ably be  somebody  there  at  that  old  shack,  Gaston  Olaf. 
They  don't  keep  that  gate  there  for  nothing." 

"I  want  to  see  if  they  do  keep  somebody  there,"  re- 
plied Gaston,  hurrying  along.  "I  want  to  see  how  far 
the  old  man  would  go  to  keep  anybody  from  nosing 
around  his  stamping  ground." 

"Devil  Dave?  He'd  go  the  limit,  I'll  bet  Why; 
what  you  heard,  Gaston  Olaf?" 

"Hale,"  said  Gaston.  "I  heard  he'd  started  out  this 
way  this  morning." 

"Hale?"  repeated  Tom.  "That  fellow  who  got  his 
arm  broke?  What  does  he  want  out  here?" 

"I  don't  know,  but  I've  got  a  suspicion." 

"He's  a  town  man,  anyhow.  What  have  we  got  to 
do  with  him?" 

"Nothing ;  nothing  to  do — with  Hale,"  snapped  Gas- 
ton,  and  hurried  along. 

To  their  surprise  they  found  no  one  at  the  building 
on  the  river  where  the  road  from  town  seemed  to  end. 
In  one  end  of  the  shack  was  fitted  up  a  room,  with 
bunk  and  stove  and  a  shelf  of  provisions.  The  stove 
was  still  warm,  though  the  fire  in  it  had  died  out. 

"Gate-tender's  off  the  job,"  said  Tom  Pine.  He 
looked  around  reminiscently.  "Gaston  Olaf,  d'you 
know  what  this  reminds  me  of?  Reminds  me  of  the 
way  old  Ezra  Howlinson  kept  strangers  from  acci- 
dentally wandering  in  on  him  when  he  was  raiding 
that  old  Couderay  Res'vation.  Had  a  man  with  a 
shotgun— Hell's  fire !  What's  that?" 

From  somewhere  on  the  top  of  the  ridge  beyond 
there  came  faintly  the  pop,  pop  of  a  rifle  fired  twice 
slowly.  Gaston  and  Tom  looked  at  one  another. 

"Deer  on  a  ridge  this  time  of  the  year?"  said  Tom 
doubtfully. 

"Deer  nothing!"  said  Gaston,  and  started  running 


Devil  Dave  at  Play  79 

up  the  road  toward  whence  the  sound  of  the  shots  came. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  when  he  finally  came 
panting  to  the  top  of  the  mile-long  slope.  Yes,  there 
was  something,  after  all.  A  pair  of  field-glasses  lay 
in  the  snow  between  the  sleigh  tracks.  Gaston  picked 
them  up ;  a  bullet  had  smashed  and  torn  them  to  pieces. 

There  was  blood,  too,  not  far  away,  a  thin,  smudged 
streak  of  red  on  the  snow,  and  a  spot  where  a  man  had 
fallen.  The  signs  were  as  so  much  clear  English  to 
Gaston.  He  leaped  toward  the  red  marks.  There  it 
was,  a  dragging  trail  of  red,  and  clumsy  marks,  such 
as  a  wounded  animal  makes,  leading  into  the  brush. 
And  as  Gaston  stooped  to  view  it  more  closely  there 
came  from  the  brush  a  voice — Hale's  voice,  by  all  that 
was  holy — faint,  but  with  its  old  quietness  in  it. 

"Look  out,  boys !  Jump  in  the  brush.  They  got  me 
when  I  was  standing  right  there." 

And  in  the  brush  Hale  lay  helpless,  his  well  hand 
clutching  his  left  leg,  where  a  bullet  had  pierced  the 
muscles  below  the  knee. 


CHAPTER  XI 

GASTON   BEGINS  TO   THINK 

G ASTON  and  Tom  Pine  were  too  experienced  to 
waste  the  next  few  precious  seconds  in  exclama- 
tions. By  the  volume  of  red  that  spurted  through 
Hale's  clutching  fingers,  and  by  the  tallow  colour  creep- 
ing about  his  mouth,  they  saw  in  a  flash  that  their 
cue  was  to  act  instantly  and  in  a  desperate  hurry. 

Tom  Pine's  hunting-knife  slit  Hale's  clothes  to  the 
skin  in  the  same  second  that  Gaston  whipped  off  his 
red  silken  sash.  They  handled  their  patient  roughly 
perhaps,  but  efficaciously.  In  a  remarkably  short  time 
the  bleeding  was  stopped,  the  leg  thoroughly  bandaged 
and  Hale  was  sitting  propped  up  against  the  trunk  of 
a  jackpine. 

"Now  a  little  hit  of  this  and  you'll  be  feeling  alive 
again,"  said  Tom  Pine,  producing  a  small  flask  from, 
an  inside  pocket,  but  Hale,  with  the  pallor  and  perspi- 
ration of  pain  on  his  face,  set  his  jaw  firmly  and  shook 
his  head. 

"Thanks;  I'll  stick  it  out  without  anything,"  he 
whispered. 

"You  will  not,"  said  Tom  Pine.  "You'll  take  a  good 
hit.  I  know  what's  good  for  you." 

"Leave  him  alone,"  said  Gaston.  "He's  got  ideas 
on  that  subject." 

He  scooped  a  great  handful  of  clean  snow  and  held 
it  up  to  Hale's  burning  lips.  The  thirst  of  the  bullet- 
torn  was  upon  Hale  and  he  gulped  the  snow  feverishly 
and  lay  back  refreshed. 

80 


Gaston  Begins  to  Think         81 

"And  now  while  we're  waiting  for  you  to  come  back 
to  life  enough  to  move  you — what  are  you  and  your 
bum  arm  doing  this  far  from  home?"  demanded  Gas- 
ton.  "Isn't  a  crippled  arm  enough  for  you  at  one 
time?" 

Hale  attempted  to  smile. 

"Funny  question,  Thorson,"  he  said  with  effort. 
"Natural  thing  to  ask  would  be,  'Who  did  it  ?' ' 

"Oh,  no.  Funny  thing  to  me  isn't  that  you'd  get 
shot,  but  that  you'd  be  so  far  from  town." 

Hale  looked  up  quietly.  Gaston  was  conscious  of  a 
growing  respect  for  this  little  town  man.  Yes ;  he  real- 
ised that  he  was  even  inclined  to  like  him;  but  he 
thought  of  the  manner  in  which  the  girl  had  held  her 
arm  under  Hale's  head  and  felt  instinctively  that  this 
man  was  his  rival. 

"Yes?"  said  Hale  steadily.  "All  right.  But  if 
you're  with  Taggart,  Thorson,  why  didn't  you  let  me 
lie  here  and  bleed?" 

"With  Taggart?"  repeated  Gaston.  "Why  d'you 
say  that?" 

"Well,  if  you're  not  with  Taggart  I  don't  see  why 
you  should  be  so  strong  against  me." 

"Twice  I've  picked  you  up  now,"  laughed  Gaston. 
"Does  that  look  much  like  I  was  against  you  ?" 

Hale  nodded. 

"I'll  remember  that.    If  there's  ever  a  chance " 

" !"  laughed  Gaston.  "Do  I  look  as  if  I  ever 

would  need  any  help  from  you  ?  Now,  what  were  you 
doing  out  here?" 

Hale  sat  silent  for  a  while. 

"I  can't  tell  you  that,  Thorson,"  he  said  finally.  "I 
don't  know  where  you  stand." 

"All  right.     Then— who  shot  you?" 

Hale  looked  up. 

"Don't  you  know?" 


82  Gascon  Olaf 

"What?"  Tom  Pine  and  Gaston  exploded  as 
one. 

"Why — why  you  little,  stove-hugging,  high-banker, 
you!"  roared  Tom  Pine.  "D'you  think — d'you 
think " 

"Shut  up,  Tom  Pine !"  laughed  Gaston.  "Of  course 
he  thinks  that !  We're  Taggart's  men,  you  know,  Tom 
Pine,"  he  continued  with  a  wink.  "Of  course,  of 
course." 

"All  I  know,"  said  Hale,  "is  that  I  was  standing  at 
the  peak  of  the  road " 

"With  a  pair  of  field-glasses  to  your  eyes." 

"With  a  pair  of  field-glasses  in  my  hand,"  corrected 
Hale,  "and  two  shots  came  from  off  in  the  timber  there 
to  the  right.  The  first  knocked  the  glasses  out  of  my 
hand.  The  second  hit  me  in  the  leg.  Apparently  they 
didn't  want  to  kill  me,  or " 

"They'd  have  plugged  you  through  the  head  first 
clip.  Sure.  But  what  were  you  doing  there  with  the 
glasses?" 

"Thorson,"  said  Hale  wearily,  "I'll  never  forget 
what  you've  done  for  me,  and  I'll  even  it  up  with  you 
if  I  ever  can.  I'm  helpless  now,  so  I've  got  to  ask 
one  more  favour  from  you.  My  rig  is  tied  up  down 
the  road  about  a  mile.  Will  you  get  it  up  here  for  me 
so  I  can  get  back  to  town?" 

"Go  get  his  rig,  Tom,"  snapped  Gaston.  "He'll  be 
fit  to  move  by  the  time  you're  back." 

"I'd  better  leave  the  bottle,"  said  Tom,  "in 
case " 

"Leave  nothing!  He's  a  good  guy.  Liquor — that's 
for  toughs  like  us.  Go  get  the  team." 

When  Tom  Pine  had  hurried  down  the  road  Gaston 
settled  back  on  his  heels,  glaring  at  Hale.  Hale  re- 
turned his  look  steadily  except  when  pain  and  weak- 
ness forced  him  to  close  his  eyes.  Gaston  rose  in 


Gaston  Begins  to  Think          83 

exasperation  and  began  to  tramp  to  and  fro.  Pres- 
ently he  stopped  before  the  wounded  man. 

"Hale,"  he  said,  "don't  you  think  I'm  a  white  man?" 

Hale  made  no  reply.  Gaston's  great  neck  swelled 
with  anger,  but  astonishment  held  him  speechless.  This 
was  something  new,  something  different.  His  life  had 
been  rough  and  varied,  but  no  man  yet  had  had  cause 
to  question  for  a  moment  that  he  was  white. 

"You  mean  to  say  you  don't  think  I'm  square?"  he 
demanded  in  amazement. 

Hale  cleared  his  throat  as  if  about  to  make  a  long 
speech,  then  seemed  to  change  his  mind. 

"You  ought  to  be  a  square  man,  by  the  eye  of  you," 
he  said,  "but  you're  Taggart's  man " 

"Tom  Pine !"  bellowed  Gaston,  hurling  himself  out 
of  hearing.  "Hurry  up  with  that  rig!" 

Tom  soon  appeared,  appreciatively  holding  the  reins 
over  a  pair  of  thin-legged  drivers. 

"He's  got  a  good  eye  for  a  horse,  even  if  he  don't 
use  liquor,  this  guy  has,  Gaston  Olaf.  I'll  bet  this 
pair'd  step  close  to  three  minutes." 

"Swing  'em  around.  Point  'em  back  toward  town. 
Get  out.  Help  me  load  him." 

Gaston  barked  his  commands  savagely,  and  Tom 
Pine,  looking  at  him,  noted  the  iron  set  of  the  jaw,  the 
clouded  brows,  and  swore  in  amazement. 

"I  believe  you're  mad,  Gaston  Olaf,"  said  Tom. 
"Yes,  sir;  something  has  got  you  mad  like  other  folks 
at  last." 

"Shut  up!" 

They  loaded  Hale,  handling  him  carefully,  and 
tucked  the  lap-robes  closely  around  him.  He  was  white 
and  sagging  by  this  time,  but  he  reached  gamely  out 
for  the  reins. 

"Hell's  fire  and  six-bits !"  roared  Tom  Pine.  "He 
thinks  we'd  leave  him  to  get  back  alone !" 


84  Gaston  Olaf 

"Get  in." 

Gaston's  command  was  quiet  and  as  firm  as  iron. 
Male's  eyes  widened  in  surprise  as  they  mounted  one 
on  each  side  of  him,  holding  him  comfortably  and 
warmly  between  them. 

"Giddap!"  said  Gaston,  and  the  drive  back  to 
Havens  Falls  was  begun. 

Gaston  Olaf  sat  silent,  staring  straight  before  him, 
as  the  team  jogged  steadily  onward,  mile  after  mile. 
It  was  an  unusual  thing  for  him  to  do.  He,  always 
terrifically,  explosively  alive,  was  not  wont  to  fail  in 
appreciation  of  the  delights  of  a  sunny,  keen  March 
day,  a  tote-road  with  just  enough  snow  remaining  to 
make  good  sleighing,  and  a  team  of  drivers  which, 
trotting  rump  to  rump,  whisked  the  cutter  along  with 
scarcely  a  jerk  or  jar.  But  to-day  no  laughter,  no  run- 
ning comment  on  scenes  along  the  road,  no  bellowed 
venting  of  the  unsuppressible  joy  of  living.  Gaston 
sat  sour  and  glum. 

He  was  not  angry.  He  was  shocked ;  he  was  dum- 
founded.  Some  one  actually  had  questioned  whether 
he,  Gaston  Olaf  Frangois  Thorson,  was  a  square  man ! 
His  courage,  his  strength,  his  skill  in  the  woods  or  dar- 
ing on  the  river — any  or  all  of  these  a  man  might  have 
questioned  and  he  would  have  laughed.  But  this — this 
was  different.  For  a  man's  squareness,  as  Gaston  un- 
derstood it,  was  the  foundation  of  a  man's  whole  life. 
If  the  foundation  was  rotten  the  man  was  rotten.  And 
if  a  man  was  rotten,  he  belonged,  not  among  the  people 
who  held  their  heads  up  and  looked  the  world  in  the 
eye,  but  among  people  who  slunk  and  squinted — among 
the  Red  Shirt  Murphys  and  their  ilk. 

"You  ought  to  be  a  square  man,  by  the  eye  of  you, 
but — you're  Taggart's  man!" 

Quite  true;  Taggart's  man,  like  Murphy  and  the 
other  jail-birds.  Birds  of  a  feather.  It  was  very 


Gaston  Begins  to  Think          85 

simple.  And  Gaston,  who  up  to  now  had  swaggered 
his  way  through  life,  self-assured  and  proud,  caring 
not  one  whit  for  the  opinion  of  any  man,  or  woman, 
wondered  in  fear  if  she  of  the  wonderful  eyes,  too,  had 
put  him  down  as  a  man  who  was  not  square. 

"Shake  'em  up,  Tom !"  he  barked.  "This  man  needs 
a  doctor." 

"Shake  'em  up?"  repeated  Tom  Pine.  "What  you 
been  doing,  boy,  sleeping?  We're  almost  in  town." 

"Then  chase  'em  along;  they  can  stand  a  run  for  a 
short  distance." 


CHAPTER  XII 
TAGGART'S  MAN  NO  LONGER 

IT  was  noon  when  they  whirled  into  town  at  a  full 
trot  and  pulled  up  before  Olson's  Hotel.  For  the 
second  time  Gaston  took  Hale  in  his  arms  and  bore 
him  up  to  his  room,  and  for  a  second  time  Dr.  Sanders 
came  up  the  steps  two  at  a  time. 

"It'll  never  do,  Hale,  never  do  at  all,"  rattled  the 
doctor.  "This  habit  of  getting  bunged  up  is  growing 
on  you  too  rapidly.  Arm  yesterday,  leg  to-day.  Bad, 
bad  habit.  Next  thing  you  know  you'll  break  your 
luck.  Then  where' 11  you  be  at?  Hullo!  Thirty-thirty 
calibre  did  that.  Clean  as  a  whistle.  Flesh  wound.  No 
bones  touched.  Have  to  keep  you  in  bed  a  few  days, 
though;  break  you  of  habit  of  getting  busted  and 
shot  up. 

"Hot  water,  Hulda,  thou  potential  mother  of 
Vikings.  What?  Going  right  away,  Thorson?  Not 
back  to  the  bush  right  away?  See  you  in  the  back 
room  in  a  few  minutes." 

Gaston  was  going  down  the  stairs  as  the  last  words 
came  shouted  after  him.  He  was  not  interested  in 
Hale's  leg  or  the  doctor's  cheerful  conversation.  He 
had  serious  personal  business  in  hand ;  and  so  without 
waste  of  time  he  marched  up  the  street,  turned  past 
the  post-office,  strode  up  the  walk  to  the  front  door  of 
the  Havens'  home,  and  knocked. 

He  heard  a  faint  clatter  of  dishes  within,  then,  like 
the  tinkle  of  the  silver  bell  of  the  church  at  Saint  Mad- 
eline, came  her  voice — 

86 


Taggart's  Man  No  Longer       87 

"Come  in!" 

Gaston  did  not  obey. 

"Come  in !" 

Still  Gaston  did  not  enter. 

"Well !  Who  can  that  be  ?"  he  heard  her  say ;  heard 
her  rise  from  the  table ;  then  the  sound  of  her  tiny  feet 
tripping  lightly  toward  him. 

"Why  don't  you  come — oh!" 

She  flung  open  the  door  and  started  as  she  saw  him. 
She  was  wearing  a  long  apron,  and  her  sleeves  were 
rolled  up  over  tiny,  dimpled  arms.  Her  hair  was  in 
disarray,  and  her  face  was  reddened  as  if  from  the 
preparation  of  a  meal.  She  was  startled,  even 
shocked,  to  see  him  standing  there,  grim-faced,  his  cap 
in  his  hands ;  but  her  hands  went  instantly  to  her  head 
to  put  back  straying  brown  locks.  And  then  she 
laughed,  for  he  was  so  very  glum  and  serious  in  con- 
trast to  his  swaggering  manner  of  the  night  before. 

"Why — why  didn't  you  come  in  ?"  she  said.  "Didn't 
you  hear  me  call  ?" 

"Yes;  but  you  didn't  know  who  it  was.  I  didn't 
know  if  I'd  be  welcome." 

"Oh!  How  different!"  She  smiled  mischievously. 
"I  didn't  know  that  you  usually  hesitated  to  discover 
if  you  were  welcome  or  not." 

"Rosebud !"  came  reprovingly  from  within.  "Is  that 
nice?  Who  is  it?  Has  he  had  dinner?" 

"No,  mother;  he  hasn't — You  look  hungry,  you 
know,  Mr.  Thorson — Get  another  plate,  mother  dear. 
He's  going  to  eat  with  us." 

"Are  you  willing  to  have  the  brute " 

"Now,  don't  bring  that  up,  Mr.  Thorson.  I  felt 
sorry  the  second  after  I'd  said  it.  I  only  said  it  be- 
cause I  was  angry.  But  it  isn't  nice  of  you  to  remind 
me  that  I  was  a  pig." 

"Miss  Havens,"  said  Gaston  doggedly,  "I  came  up 


88  Gaston  Olaf 

here  to  ask  you  one  question:  Do  you  think  I'm  a 
square  man  ?" 

"Of  course!"  Her  reply  came  spontaneously. 
"But" — she  grew  quickly  serious  and  thoughtful — "I 
also  think  you  are  the  wildest,  most  reckless,  most 
foolish  boy  I've  ever  seen." 

"But,"  he  insisted,  "don't  you  think  I'm  one  of  Tag- 
gart's  men?" 

She  shook  her  head  slowly,  the  while  looking  him 
searchingly  in  the  eyes. 

"You  couldn't  be — one  of  those,  could  you?" 

"Why  couldn't  I?" 

"No."  She  shook  her  head  again.  "No,  you 
couldn't  be,  because — because  you  couldn't.  You— 
you  don't  belong  with  that  kind.  You  know  you  don't." 

"Where  do  you  think  I  do  belong?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"I  suppose  people  have  to  decide  that  for  them- 
selves." Her  gaze  roved  over  him  and  went  to  the 
floor.  "But  you — I  believe  you  could  do  anything  fine 
— no  matter  what — that  you  really  wanted  to.  What 
can  you  see  in  the  rough  life  you're  leading,  roaming 
around,  righting,  a  man  like  you?  It's  so  boyish. 
What  does  it  amount  to?  And  there  are  so  many 
real  things,  worth-while  things,  calling  for  men  like 
you  to  do — especially  in  a  country  to  be  hewed  out  of 
the  woods,  like  this.  Things  that  only  men  like  you 
can  do. 

"I  should  think  you'd  want  to  be  doing  something. 
I  know  I  would  if  I  were  a  man.  It  thrills  me.  Here 
are  men  breaking  Nature  for  the  use  of  men.  I  love 
it!  I — oh,  come  to  the  table;  I'm  forgetting.  Come. 
Mother  dear,"  she  called,  leading  the  way  into  another 
room,  "this  is  Mr.  Thorson." 

"Yes,"  said  the  little  old  lady  at  the  table.  "Sit 
right  down  here,  Mr.  Thorson,  and  help  yourself.  I'm 


Taggart's  Man  No  Longer       89 

glad  of  the  chance  to  thank  you  for  taking  care  of 
my  Rosebud  yesterday  morning.  If  we  had  a  few 
men  like  you,  Mr.  Thorson,  I'm  thinking  such  things 
wouldn't  happen  much  longer  in  Havens  Falls.  As  it 
is,  I  often  think  we  shall  have  to  move  away." 

"We  won't,"  said  Rose  vehemently.  "They  sha'n't 
scare  us  out.  It's  our  home,  and  I  love  it — and  we're 
going  to  stay.  Sugar,  Mr.  Thorson?" 

Gaston  went  through  the  meal  in  a  sort  of  haze.  It 
had  been  a  long  time  since  he  had  sat  down  to  such  a 
table  in  such  a  room,  and  in  such  company.  A  snow- 
white  table-cloth ;  tiny,  fragile  dishes ;  the  gentle  little 
white-haired  lady  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  the  girl, 
with  sleeves  rolled  up  over  dimpled  arms,  urging  him 
to  eat. 

In  the  windows  were  plants;  a  tall  clock  ticked 
cozily  in  a  corner.  Gaston  was  out  of  place.  He 
was  uncomfortable.  Yet  he  sensed  the  permanence, 
the  security,  the  comfort  of  the  place.  It  was  a  home. 
And  once  more  Gaston  Olaf  hungered  wistfully  for 
something,  something  for  which  a  craving  had  been 
bred  in  him,  and  which  his  rough  mode  of  life  denied 
him. 

He  finished  his  meal  as  quickly  as  possible  without 
being  rude.  He  knew  he  was  out  of  place  there,  did 
not  belong,  had  no  right.  These  things  were  not  for 
him.  Not  now,  at  least,  whispered  something  in  him. 

"Will  you  shake  hands  with  me,  Mrs.  Havens?"  he 
said  as  he  rose  to  go. 

"Why — why,  of  course!"  The  little  silvery-haired 
lady  took  his  big  hand  in  astonishment.  "What  a 
queer  boy  you  are !" 

"Thanks,"  said  Gaston.  "I  feel  a  lot  better  than 
when  I  came  in  here." 

"Aha!  A  recommendation  for  my  cooking!"  cried 
Rose. 


90  Gaston  Olaf 


didn't  mean  that- 


"Aho !  You  didn't,  eh  ?  You  mean  to  say  my  cook- 
ing isn't  calculated  to  make  any  one  feel  better.  Oh, 
very  well." 

"Rose,  dear!"  protested  the  mother. 

"I  mean,  a  man  might  get  grub  a  lot  of  places  to 
make  him  feel  better,"  said  Gaston,  "but 

His  sweeping  gesture  indicated  the  girl,  the  mother, 
the  room  and  all,  better  than  words  could  have  done. 

"How  pretty!"  cried  Rose.  "That  was  French— 
ires  gallant,  m'sieu.  Imagine  a  man  named  Thorson 
doing  that,  mother." 

"Rose,  dear,"  chided  the  mother.  "But  'Thorson' 
isn't  a  French  name,  Mr.  Thorson?" 

"My  full  name,"  said  Gaston,  "is  Gaston  Olaf  Fran- 
cois Thorson.  Gaston  Frangois  from  my  French 
mother;  Olaf  Thorson  from  my  father,  Norwegian. 
But  I'm  American.  Don't  forget  that." 

"  'Olaf  Thorson,'  "  repeated  Rose.  "My,  what  a 
sturdy,  steady-going  dependable  sort  of  name  it  is  with 
the  'Gaston  Frangois'  left  out." 

"It's  hard  to  leave  it  out,  though,"  he  replied; 
"they're  all  so  closely  mingled.  And  I  guess  I'm  well 
named,"  he  concluded  with  a  laugh.  "Good-bye." 

"Good-bye." 

He  was  at  the  door  when  the  old  lady  called  after 
him: 

"I  forgot  to  ask — are  you  really  working  for  Tag- 
gart,  and — helping  him — Mr.  Thorson?" 

"No,  ma'am,"  laughed  Gaston.  "I  certainly  am  not. 
No  matter  what  things  may  look  like — I'm  not  work- 
ing for  Taggart." 


CHAPTER  XIII 


WHAT  ho,  Big  Fellow !"  greeted  Dr.  Sanders,  as 
Gaston  entered  his  private  sanctum.  "Help 
yourself  to  the  poison  there.  Now,  Tom,  where  does 
that  road  go  from  the  swamp?" 

"Keep  on,  north,  Doc,  to  the  crick — like  this." 

Tom  Pine  was  following  with  a  hardened  fore- 
finger a  line  on  the  map  over  which  he  and  the  doctor 
were  poring,  Gaston  joined  them  without  accepting 
the  invitation  regarding  the  poison. 

The  map  was  a  large,  carefully  drawn  affair  of  the 
country  about  Havens  Falls,  apparently  the  work  of  a 
skilled  engineer  and  observer  who  had  painstakingly 
cruised  the  district  on  foot  and  knew  every  square 
mile  of  the  country  which  he  mapped.  The  town-site 
of  Havens  Falls,  neatly  plotted  on  the  bend  of  the 
river,  was  in  the  centre.  A  footnote  concerning  it 
read : 

"Site  ideal;  high;  solid;  no  danger  from  floods. 
Drinking  water  excellent ;  water  power  of  falls  capable 
of  great  development." 

Of  the  great  tamarack  swamp  to  the  north  was 
noted : 

"10,000  acres,  first-class  farm  land  when  burnt  over 
and  ditched." 

Along  the  river  were  several  notes : 

"Good  deposits  of  brick  clay."  There  were  ridges 
marked:  "Some  trace  of  iron,"  or  "bare,  glacial, 

91 


92  Gaston  Olaf 

moraine."  In  other  places  were  "white  pine,"  "Nor- 
way," "hardwood."  Some  valleys  were  marked,  "red 
clay,"  others,  "black  loam." 

Rivers  were  labelled  with  their  drop  per  mile,  lakes 
by  their  depth.  The  Big  LaCroix  River  at  intervals 
was  marked,  "Good  mill  site."  One  of  these  at  the 
mouth  of  a  bayou  attracted  Gaston's  attention.  His 
eyes  lighted  with  appreciation  as  he  studied  the  map. 
A  woodsman  had  but  to  look  at  it  and  the  whole  coun- 
try around  was  spread  out  before  him  as  in  a  pano- 
rama. 

Tom  Pine's  forefinger  was  tracing  the  line  of  the 
road  up  the  river,  as  they  had  travelled  it  the  night 
before. 

"Here's  where  we  leave  the  marsh,  Doc,  and  go  up 
into  the  timber,  jest  like  it  is  here.  Here's  where  we 
pass  them  clearings,  jest  where  they're  marked.  Then 
we  keep  on.  Pretty  soon  we  come  to  this  big  ridge 
here.  Then  we  go  up  over  that  and  down  to  the 
crick  at  the  bottom,  and " 

"That's  where  the  road  stops  on  the  map."  The 
doctor  was  visibly  excited. 

"I  see  it  does,"  continued  Tom  imperturbably.  "But 
we  didn't  stop  there.  We  went  across  the  crick  and 
swung  west " 

"West?  West?  Are  you  sure  it  wasn't  east,  Tom ? 
Thorson,  did  you  swing  west?" 

Gaston  nodded. 

"It  couldn't  have  been  east.  We'd  have  had  to  cross 
the  LaCroix  to  do  that.  We  went  west,  along  the  far 
side  of  that  branch." 

Dr.  Sanders  swung  around,  poured  himself  a  drink, 
tossed  it  off  and  swung  back  again. 

"By  the  claws  of  Old  Nicky!  Hm,  hm!  West — 
along  the  far  side  of  that  crick!  Are  you  sure,  boys? 
It  was  dark,  you  know.  Are  you  sure  you've  got  it 


The  Crook  Trail  Exposed        93 

right  ?  Yes,  yes.  I'm  afraid  you  have.  Well,  where 
then,  Tom?"" 

"Then  we  kept  on  along  the  crick  for  some  distance, 
until  we  come  to  the  lake  that  the  crick  runs  out  of, 
and  then  we  swung  along  the  lake — what  in  Sam  Hill, 
Doc  ?  What  for  have  you  got  that  corner  turned  down 
over  the  lake  like  that?  You're  hiding  the  spot  where 
that  camp  is  at." 

Dr.  Sanders  suddenly  whisked  the  map  off  the  table 
and  rolled  it  up.  Then  he  sat  down  heavily. 

"Boys,  this  looks  like  the  devil,"  he  said  solemnly. 

"What  does  ?"  said  Gaston. 

The  doctor  smote  the  map. 

"You  notice  I've  got  that  lake  covered,"  he  said. 
"I'm  afraid  to  follow  your  trail  to  the  finish,  alone. 
I  may  be  wrong;  I  may  be  reading  the  map  wrong. 
The  man  who  made  the  map  is  the  one  to  lift  that 
corner  off  the  lake.  Boys,  I  don't  know  if  you  realise 
what  this  means.  I'm  asking  you  as  a  favour:  will 
you  come  with  me  and  tell  all  this  to  the  man  who 
made  this  map?" 

"Certainly,"  replied  Gaston.    "Where  is  he?" 

"In  bed  in  his  room  over  at  Olson's." 

"Hale?" 

"Hale— Dick  Hale." 

"I  thought  Hale  was  just  a  teetotaler  of  a  store- 
keeper?" 

"He's  that,  too.  But  he's  a  civil  engineer  and  a 
geologist,  and  a  whole  lot  of  other  things,  too.  He 
made  that  map.  He's  probably  the  only  man  in  the 
world  who  could  make  it.  Not  even  old  Taggart  has 
mushed  over  this  country  like  Hale  has.  And  that's 
why  he's  the  man  who's  got  to  lift  the  corner  of  this 
map." 

"All  right."  Gaston  nodded  grimly.  "We'll  go  over 
and  repeat  to  him  what  we've  told  you.  But  first  I 


94  Gaston  Olaf 

want  to  ask  you  a  question,  Dr.  Sanders:  Do  you 
think  I'm  a  square  man?" 

Dr.  Sanders'  jaw  dropped  in  amazement.  He  stared 
at  Gaston,  and  finally  broke  out  into  laughter. 

"Do  I  think  you're  square?  Of  course!  What  are 
you  driving  at,  Thorson?" 

"Hale  doesn't,"  said  Gaston. 

"Hm,  hm !  Hale  doesn't,  eh  ?  Well,  Hale,  mighty 
cautious  fellow — quiet,  calm,  judicial-minded — judges 
things  and  men  with  the  acid  test.  You've  got  to  show 
him.  That's  Hale.  Understand?" 

"He's  got  me  judged  as  Taggart's  man." 

"We-ell — I  told  you  you'd  be  sorry  about  that,  didn't 
I  ?  Couldn't  blame  people  for  putting  you  among  the 
bad  ones  when  you  choose  to  run  with  'em.  How  can 
people  judge  except  by  actions,  'specially  a  stranger's? 
And  Dick  Hale,  you  know,  hasn't  had  the  pleasure  of 
talking  to  you  over  the  bottle — couldn't  possibly  know 
you  as  I  do,  you  know.  And  until  he  knows,  that  boy 
doesn't  warm  up." 

"Do  you  think  I'm  one  of  Taggart's  men?" 

"Sixteen  long-tailed  devils!  What  are  you  talking 
about?  Haven't  I  asked  you  to  liquor  with  me  after 
you've  been  in  Taggart's  camp?  D'you  think  I'd  do 
that  if  I  didn't  know  you  were  white?" 

"And  the  other  people — square  people — around 
here.  What  do  they  think  ?" 

"We-ell."  Dr.  Sanders  stroked  his  beard.  "I  told 
you  you'd  be  sorry  for  running  with  that  pack  of 
scum." 

"Not  a bit."  Gaston's  mouth  was  grim  and 

hard.  "Glad  I  did  it.  Just  the  thing." 

"But  what's  happened  to  you,  Thorson  ?  You — you 
caring  about  what  people  think  of  you!  Whoa,  ho! 
Getting  soft,  young  Viking?  Civilisation  taking  the 
iron  out  of  you,  too?  I  never  thought  this  of  you." 


The  Crook  Trail  Exposed        95 

"Neither  did  I,"  said  Gaston.  "Because  until  this 
morning  I  never  thought  any  one'd  ever  have  reason 
for  doubting  that  I  was  white." 

"Hm,  hm!  Old  boy,  pardon  me,  but  if  you'll  let 
me  diagnose  your  case,  I  guess  you  never  stopped  to 
think  much  at  all  about  anything,  did  you?" 

"I  guess  that's  right,  too." 

"No  more  than  a  storm.  You  just  naturally  tore 
along  and  tore  things  up,  and  tore  on  again." 

Gaston  nodded. 

"And  why  should  a  raging,  blowing  storm  bother 
about  people's  opinions  ?"  laughed  the  doctor. 

Gaston  scratched  his  chin  thoughtfully. 

"Well,  Doc,  I  guess  it's  because  a  man  feels  some- 
times he  can't  keep  on  storming  all  his  life." 

"Hm,  hm!  Perhaps.  But,  come  on;  let's  storm 
over  and  see  the  man  who  made  this  map." 

He  led  the  way  across  to  the  hotel,  went  up  the 
stairs  two  at  a  time,  complimented  Hulda  on  the  size 
of  the  forearms  she  displayed  as  she  held  a  cooling 
drink  to  Hale's  lips,  and  felt  the  wounded  man's  pulse, 
all  at  top  speed  and  chattering  constantly. 

"Hm,  hm!  Got  some  fever,  old  dog!  Going  to 
have  some  more.  Got  some  news  here  calculated  to 
make  your  temperature  rise,  but  it  won't  wait.  Don't 
let  it  make  you  boil  if  you  can  help  it,  old  man.  Hulda, 
your  wholesome  presence  in  the  room  usually  is  worth 
a  dozen  doctors,  but  just  hie  your  airy,  fairy  little 
form  hence  for  the  present.  Get  out;  skedaddle; 
mooch!" 

Hulda  chuckled  far  down  in  her  deep  bosom  as  she 
moved  toward  the  door. 

"You  are  offul  frash  sometime,  Doctor,"  she  said. 
"If  I  didn't  like  you  so  much  I  skud  smeck  you  one." 

"Ha!  What?  Hm,  hm!"  The  doctor  waited  until 
the  door  had  closed  on  her  and  unrolled  the  map. 


96  Gaston  Olaf 

"Follow  the  trail  over  again,  boys,"  he  said  briskly. 
"Tell  Hale  here  just  what  you  told  me.  And,  Hale, 
you  were  wrong;  Thorson  isn't  Taggart's  man.  Now 
shoot,  boys." 

Gaston  described  the  course  of  the  road  they  had 
travelled  in  taking  the  crew  into  camp.  As  his  ringer 
followed  the  road  along  the  West  Branch,  Hale  sud- 
denly turned  up  the  folded  corner  of  the  map  and 
revealed  the  lake  which  he  had  drawn  as  it  lay  at  the 
head  of  the  creek.  There  was  no  surprise  on  Hale's 
face  as  Gaston's  ringer  ran  along  the  shore  to  the  loca- 
tion of  Taggart's  new  camp. 

"I  thought  so,  but  I  wasn't  quite  sure,"  said  he. 
"That's  why  I  went  out  to  the  big  ridge  this  morning. 
You  can  look  over  to  Loon  Lake — that's  what  that 
lake  is — from  the  big  ridge  with  glasses.  That's  what 
I  was  preparing  to  do  when  they  shot  me.  Read  what's 
written  there  where  you're  holding  your  ringer." 

Gaston  bent  over  and  read  aloud: 

"  'Clear  growth  white  pine.  Owned  by  Rose  Ha- 
vens.' " 

"Then  it's  so?"  cried  Dr.  Sanders.  "Devil  Dave 
Taggart " 

"Yes,  he's  stealing  Miss  Havens's  timber,"  said 
Hale. 

"Hell's  fire  and  six-bits!"  roared  Tom  Pine.  "I 
knew  we  hadn't  any  business  there." 

Gaston  stood  silently  looking  down  at  the  map.  His 
face  was  granite  hard,  and  the  light  of  recklessness 
was  missing.  He  lifted  his  eyes  and  looked  first  at 
the  doctor  then  at  Hale. 

"And  I'm  the  man  who  got  that  crew  up  there  in 
time  to  do  the  job,"  he  said  quietly.  "Taggart  fooled 
me.  He  was  too  smart  for  me.  And  I  was  too  hot- 
headed to  listen  to  you,  Doc;  too  hot-headed  to 
think." 


CHAPTER  XIV 
TAGGART'S  SYSTEM 

FOR  a  space  there  was  silence  in  the  room.  Then 
the  doctor's  voice,  incredulously: 

"Oh,  my  stars!  Robbing  a  girl,  alone  with  her 
mother!  The  grinding  old  devil!  Has  he  got  the 
nerve,  the  heart,  to  do  a  thing  like  this?  Hm,  hm! 
Of  course.  Nerve  and  heart  to  do  anything.  Devil 
Dave  has.  But  this — this  is  beyond  the  limit." 

"I  was  afraid  he'd  do  it,"  said  Hale.  "That  bunch 
of  pine  always  was  a  thorn  in  his  side.  It  was  the 
one  valuable  piece  of  timber  that  old  Havens  managed 
to  hang  on  to,  to  leave  to  his  daughter  when  he  died. 
Taggart  had  managed  to  freeze,  or  swindle,  or  buy 
him  out  of  everything  else  except  that  and  Mrs. 
Havens's  homestead  quarter  section  here  in  town. 

"Taggart's  point  of  view  is  that  this  country  be- 
longs to  him.  It  angered  him  to  think  that  some  one 
else  possessed  the  best  piece  of  timber  around  here. 
He  tried  to  buy  before  Havens  was  buried.  As  exec- 
utor and  agent  I  had  to  deal  with  him.  He  said :  'Sell 
to  me  for  five  thousand  dollars,  or  you'll  never  log  a 
foot  of  that  pine.' 

"I  told  him  twenty-five  thousand  would  be  nearer 
a  fair  price.  'But  five  thousand  is  better  than  noth- 
ing,' he  said.  I  asked  him  what  he  meant.  He  said : 
'Nobody  touches  that  timber  but  myself.  Try  to  log 
it  "and  see.  You've  got  just  this  Winter  to  log  it  in, 
too,  because  if  it  isn't  mine  by  next  August  dry  spell 
a  fire'll  go  through  it  that  won't  leave  anything  stand- 

97 


98  Gaston  Olaf 

ing  but  stumps.'  We  tried  to  log  it  this  Winter.  We 
couldn't  even  get  men  to  go  up  and  clear  space  for  a 
camp.  I've  got  a  small  sawmill  outfit  here.  I  can't 
get  men  to  set  it  up.  Taggart  warned  them — that  was 
enough.  Our  hands  were  tied. 

"I  knew  Taggart  never  intended  to  send  that  tim- 
ber up  in  smoke.  Not  that  he'd  have  any  compunction 
about  it,  but  he's  too  avaricious.  He's  been  in  a  cold 
rage  ever  since  the  sale  was  refused  him.  His  men 
began  to  make  things  rougher  in  the  settlement  at 
once.  Then  this  new  crew  came  in.  I  suspected  some- 
thing then.  When  I  heard  it  given  out  that  a  new 
camp  was  to  be  started  within  eight  miles  of  town 
I  knew  something  was  wrong,  because  there  isn't  any 
pinery  that  near  town  that  hasn't  one  of  Taggart's 
camps  in  it. 

"The  men  got  drunk  and  got  out  of  hand.  Murphy 
got  drunk,  too,  and  lost  his  grip  on  them.  He  tried 
to  start  them  for  camp  the  second  day.  They  laughed 
at  him.  Murphy  was  done  for.  He'd  never  have  got 
them  out. 

"I  began  to  hope  the  crew  would  go  to  pieces,  and 
it  would  be  too  late  to  get  another  together  in  time 
to  get  much  logging  done  before  Spring.  Taggart 
didn't  have  another  man  who  could  handle  that  crew. 
He  could  have  done  it  himself,  but  that  isn't  Taggart's 
way.  He  has  others  do  his  dirty  work  for  him." 

"And  that  was  me,"  interjected  Gaston  bitterly.  "I 
came  along,  and  Taggart  fooled  me  into  becoming  his 
tool." 

"This  morning  I  hooked  up  and  took  a  drive,  fol- 
lowing the  tracks  of  the  sleighs,"  continued  Hale.  "I 
guess  they'd  expected  maybe  I'd  do  something  of  the 
sort.  Maybe  some  one  noticed  me  leaving  town ;  Tag- 
gart's Indian  can  run  faster  than  a  horse  can  travel. 
Well,  we  found  out,  anyhow,  thanks  to  you  fellows. 


Taggart's  System  99 

Taggart's  started  to  rob  the  Havens  of  everything  they 
possess." 

"Hah?  Everything?  What  do  you  mean?"  cried 
Dr.  Sanders. 

"There's  five  thousand  dollars  mortgage  against  that 
timber,  secured  by  Mrs.  Havens's  homestead,"  said 
Hale.  "The  mortgage  is  held  by  the  bank  down  at  La 
Croix." 

"Well?    What  of  it?" 

"If  Taggart  succeeds  in  his  steal  there'll  be  no  lum- 
ber, no  money,  and  the  mortgage  on  the  homestead 
will  be  foreclosed." 

The  doctor  laughed  in  desperation. 

"Hm,  hm.  Cunning  little  Devil  David!  How  like 
the  man!  Puts  you  between  the  devil  and  the  deep 
sea,  and  he's  both  of  'em.  Hm,  hm.  Octopus,  devil- 
fish. Very  complicated.  This  needs  thinking  about." 

"Thinking !"  said  Tom  Pine.  "Ain't  these 

women  got  any  men-folk  of  their  own?" 

"They  have  not." 

"Well" — it  was  a  very  simple  matter  to  Tom,  and 
he  spoke  matter  of  fact — "they's  four  of  us  here. 
Since  these  women  ain't  got  no  men-folk  of  their  own, 
we  got  to  stand  by  'em  and  see  they  ain't  done  wrong. 
So  we  just  draw  lots,  the  four  of  us,  to  see  who  puts 
a  bullet  through  old  Taggart's  head  or  makes  him 
quit." 

To  Tom's  surprise  his  suggestion  was  received  with- 
out any  enthusiasm.  Even  Gaston  Olaf  shook  his 
head. 

"Those  good  old  days  are  gone,  Tom  Pine — here, 
anyway,"  he  said. 

"Why  be  they?"  demanded  Tom.  "He's  doing  lone 
women  dirt,  ain't  he?  Why  shouldn't  somebody  get 
him?" 

"Because  things  have  changed,  old  fire-eater!"  re- 


ioo  Gaston  Olaf 

plied  Dr.  Sanders  with  a  tinge  of  regret  in  his  voice. 
"The  old  order  passeth ;  law  and  order  taketh  its  place 
— at  least  let's  hope  so." 

"Law  and  order!"  snorted  Tom  Pine.  "Well,  I 
never  felt  comf'table  where  they  was  too  much  of  that 
around.  Out  in  the  woods  no  hairy  old  wolf  like  Tag- 
gart  could  sneak  the  grub-bag  away  from  a  couple  of 
lone  women,  if  they  was  any  men  around,  without 
getting  a  lung  blowed  out  of  him,  and  you  know  it. 
And  just  because  he  knew  that'd  happen  to  him  he 
wouldn't  go  try  it.  Here — 'law  and  order'  you  sez; 
'things  has  changed/  Well,  I  should  say  they  has! 
Gaston — Gaston  Olaf — I  believe  you've  changed,  too." 

Gaston  did  not  reply.  He  realised  the  impossibility 
of  making  Tom  Pine  see  things  as  he  saw  them  now, 
since  he  had  sat  at  table  with  Rose  Havens  and  her 
mother  in  their  home.  He  had  not  changed.  Men 
do  not  change  so  suddenly,  so  radically,  so  dramat- 
ically. But  in  some  men  a  portion  of  their  true  self 
long  lies  dormant,  awaiting  the  crisis  of  circumstances 
to  bring  it  into  active  control  of  their  personality. 

Gaston  had  not  changed.  He  had  lived  only  at  the 
dictates  of  one  side  of  his  nature  so  far,  the  care-free, 
unthinking,  reckless  coureur  de  bois  side  of  him,  the 
side  of  him  which  made  a  laugh  of  life,  which  had 
kept  his  quick  feet  on  the  Restless  Ones'  trail  with 
never  a  thought  of  to-morrow,  never  an  idea  of  re- 
maining any  longer  in  one  spot  than  was  pleasant  to 
his  vagrant  fancy.  But  back  of  him  there  was  also  a 
long  strain  of  severe,  sober-minded  Norsemen,  a  breed 
which  even  in  the  days  of  its  sea-robber  glory  held 
•so  stern  a  passion  for  the  Home  and  the  Law  that 
peasants  rose  and  sorrowfully  slew  their  hero-kings 
who  dared  to  transgress  the  Law  or  violate  the  Home, 
Wherefore  Gaston  Olaf,  at  the  ordered,  home-table  of 
the  Havens  had  hungered  mightily;  and  wherefore 


Taggart's  System  101 

now  he  shook  his  head  while  Tom  Pine  uttered  his 
lawless  suggestion. 

"You've  got  a  sheriff  in  this  county,  haven't  you?" 
he  asked ;  and  Tom  Pine  looked  at  him  in  disgust. 

"A  sheriff!  Hell's  fire  and  six-bits,  Gaston  Olaf! 
What's  come  over  you?" 

Hale  smiled  bitterly  and  looked  at  Sanders. 

"Hm,  hm!  A  sheriff?  Oh,  yes.  Yes,  yes;  of 
course  the  county's  got  a  sheriff,"  said  the  doctor. 
"He's  down  at  La  Croix.  I  think  he — hm,  hm — 
tends  bar  down  there.  Taggart  keeps  him,  because 
sometimes  he  finds  a  sheriff  handy  to  do  his  dirty 
work." 

Gaston  stood  looking  heavily  at  the  floor  for  a  long 
time. 

"So  that's  the  way  it  is,"  he  muttered  at  last.  "Then 
I  guess  'Devil  Dave's'  got  the  drop,  hasn't  he?  I  take 
it  you  fellows  here  ain't  got  an  idea  that  he  can  be 
stopped  ?" 

The  doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Hale  looked 
away. 

"Have  you  ?"  insisted  Gaston.  "Get  down  to  hard- 
pan — not  what  you  hope,  or  expect,  but  the  solid  facts 
—have  you  got  any  idea  of  a  way  to  stop  Taggart  from 
stealing  this  girl's  timber?" 

"Sure  they  have !"  sneered  Tom  Pine.  "The  law — 
law'n  order.  They'll  have  the  law  on  him,  won't  you, 
gents?" 

"We  will  go  to  La  Croix  and  take  it  into  court,  of 
course,"  said  Hale. 

"Which,"  said  the  doctor,  "considering  that  Tag- 
gart owns  the  court,  too,  isn't  much  of  a  hopeful 
move." 

"Not  for  immediate  action,"  admitted  Hale.  "But 
the  case  will  be  on  record.  Taggart  won't  control  the 
court  much  longer,  if  we  manage  to  get  the  decent 


102  Gaston  Olaf 

element  on  top,  as  we  hope  to  do.  Then  there  will  be 
opportunity  for  justice  to  be  done." 

"Talk !  Nothing  but  talk.  You  can't  lick  Taggart 
with  your  mouth.  While  you're  going  to  law  Tag- 
gart will  have  the  timber  chopped  down,  the  drive 
down  the  river,  and  the  logs  sold.  He'll  be  stronger 
than  ever;  he'll  be  so  strong  that  you  fellows  won't 
dare  to  make  a  chirp.  Can't  you  see  what  this  is  ?  It's 
his  notice  to  you  fellows  to  pack  up  and  travel.  It's 
his  way  of  letting  you  know  that  this  country  is  his 
and  that  he'll  do  just  as  he  pleases,  take  what  he  pleases, 
and  the  law  can't  touch  him.  No,  that  won't  do.  If 
he  isn't  licked  on  this  job,  you'll  never  lick  him.  And 
you  can't  do  it,  can  you?" 

"I  don't  see  how  we  can,"  admitted  Hale. 

"Neither  do  I.  You  aren't  the  kind  of  fellows  to 
lick  one  of  the  old  breed  like  Taggart.  That  ain't 
saying  anything  against  you ;  you're  good  men  in  town. 
But  Taggart's  an  old  wolf  of  the  woods.  It'll  take 
one  of  his  own  kind  to  have  a  chance  against  him. 
You  can't  get  an  old  wolf's  scalp  if  he  knows  you're 
hunting  him." 

Gaston's  lids  were  narrowed  to  mere  slits,  and  his 
eyes  were  peering  out  of  the  window  with  a  far-away, 
wistful  look  in  the  blue  of  them. 

"Boys,  are  you  satisfied  now  that  I'm  a  white  man  ? 
All  right.  Then  that's  understood ;  so  no  matter  what 
happens  you'll  know  it's — square.  No  matter  what. 
The  man  who  beats  an  old  wolf  like  Taggart  has  got  to 
make  funny-looking  trails.  All  right." 

He  moved  briskly  toward  the  door. 

"There's  no  use  saying  anything  to  the  girl  about 
what  Taggart's  at.  No  use  worrying  her  before  it's 
necessary.  There's  only  the  four  of  us  who  know. 
We'll  keep  it  so,  eh?" 

Hale  nodded. 


Taggart's  System  103 

"Hm,  hm.  Got  something  up  your  sleeve,  Thor- 
son?"  asked  the  doctor. 

Gaston  thrust  out  his  long  arm,  stiff  and  hard  as  an 
iron  bar. 

"Sure!"  he  laughed.    "Take  a  feel  of  that." 


CHAPTER  XV 

GASTON  HAS  A  SCHEME 

ON  the  long  wooden  bench  beside  the  door  of 
Mrs.  Olson's  hostelry  Gaston  Olaf  seated  him- 
self in  the  sun,  pulled  his  cap  far  down  over  his  eyes, 
and  sat  staring  apparently  at  the  rubbers  on  his  feet. 
Tom  Pine,  as  was  his  wont,  seated  himself  at  Gaston's 
side,  bit  off  a  chew,  spat  into  the  snow,  and  waited. 

He  knew  these  moods,  did  Tom  Pine.  They  came 
at  regular  intervals  and  contrasted  strangely  with  the 
buoyant  scheme  of  life  as  normally  pursued  by  Gaston 
Olaf.  While  in  their  grasp  Gaston's  boyish  laughter 
was  stilled.  The  impulse  to  be  up  and  going,  to  be 
playing,  to  be  blowing  off  steam  in  some  wild  fashion, 
was  dead  or  dormant  for  the  time  being.  Gaston,  on 
such  occasions,  sat  by  himself,  serious  of  mien,  want- 
ing to  be  left  alone. 

"He's  Norwegian  to-day,"  said  Tom  Pine  on  such 
days,  and  waited  patiently  for  the  mood  to  pass. 

Despite  Gaston's  incredible  weakness  in  suggesting 
an  appeal  to  a  sheriff,  Tom  sat  contentedly  by  his  side, 
placidly  chewing,  holding  his  peace,  waiting.  It  was 
pleasant  enough  there  in  the  sun,  and  Tom  knew  that 
Gaston's  thoughts  were  working  in  a  fashion  that 
presaged  immediate  action. 

When  Gaston  roused  himself  he  did  it  slowly, 
heavily,  in  contrast  to  his  usual  lightning-like  move- 
ments. He  drew  his  long  legs  up  slowly,  straightened 
his  shoulders,  and  pushed  back  his  cap. 

104 


Gaston  Has  a  Scheme          105 

"Tom,"  he  drawled,  "we  got  to  get  back  in  that 
camp." 

"All  right,"  agreed  Tom.  He  realised  that  it  was 
no  time  to  differ  with  Gaston  now.  "It's  a  rotten 
place  for  a  white  man  to  be,  but  I  'spect  you  got  an 
idee?" 

Gaston  nodded. 

"We  got  to  get  back  in  good  standing.  We've  got 
to  be  Taggart's  men  again.  To  do  that  you  got  to  get 
good  and  drunk." 

Tom  Pine's  mouth  and  eyes  opened  wide  with 
amazement. 

"Get  drunk?  You  mean  it,  Gaston  Olaf  ?"  A  smile 
wreathed  his  lips.  "Well,  if  I  gotto  do  it,  I 
s'pose- 

Gaston  rose  with  him. 

"What!  You're  going  to  get  drunk,  too,  Gaston 
Olaf?" 

"Not  much.  You  see,  it's  this  way,  Tom:  you 
suddenly  discovered  you  had  to  have  liquor  this  morn- 
ing. So  you  streaked  it  for  town.  I  took  after  you, 
to  bring  you  back.  You're  drunk  now,  understand, 
and  I'm  just  drinking  with  you  to  keep  you  in  good 
humour,  so  you'll  come  back  to  camp  peaceful.  Un- 
derstand ?" 

Tom  stared  and  blinked,  and  a  look  of  admiration 
spread  over  his  countenance. 

"You  old  son  of  a  gun!"  he  breathed  in  awe. 

Suddenly  he  lurched  into  the  street,  threw  his  cap 
in  the  snow  and  leaped  on  it. 

"Wow!"  he  bellowed.  "Turn  me  loose!  Nobody 
gets  me  back  to  camp  till  I've  drinked  this  settlement 
dry.  Wow!  Come  on,  boys!  Let  'er  roar!" 

So  they  proceeded  to  "let  'er  roar"  a  little  in  the 
good  old  fashion  of  the  bad,  old  river  towns.  They 
surged  together  through  the  door  of  the  nearest  saloon. 


io6  Gaston  Olaf 

They  leaned  against  the  bar  upon  which  Tom  Pine's 
mallet-like  fists  beat  in  a  fierce  tattoo. 

"Licker!  Licker!  Licker!"  The  voice  of  Tom  was 
strident  and  drunken.  "Whoop-la!  Out  with  your 
poison !  Let  it  come  hot  an'  quick.  I'm  off  the  res'va- 
tion,  and  they  ain't  no  foreman  going  to  get  me  to 
camp  till  the  last  drink's  drinked.  Money  ?  Come  out- 
side an'  take  it  out  of  my  hide  like  a  man." 

Tom  drank  and  surged  out  again,  while  Gaston  paid 
and  hurried  after. 

"Give  the  boys  something.  Give  'em  all  something. 
Belly  up,  boys.  'S  on  me,  an'  any  man  refuses  to  drink 
with  me's  got  to  put  me  on  my  back." 

They  were  in  another  place  now,  and  Tom  Pine 
was  more  belligerent  than  ever. 

"Come  on;  let's  go  back  to  camp,"  insisted  Gaston 
loudly.  "You've  had  enough." 

"Enough?"  The  liquor  had  really  begun  to  work 
in  Tom's  veins,  and  he  was  drolly  conscious  that  he 
was  only  half  acting.  "Enough?  For  me?  Huh! 
Got  to  make  the  rounds  first." 

So  they  made  the  rounds,  swinging  through  one  sa- 
loon door  after  another,  drinking  sometimes,  some- 
times skilfully  quarrelling  and  leaving  before  the 
drinks  were  ordered.  In  Jack  McCarthy's  place  they 
saw  Charley,  the  Indian,  in  a  corner,  and  there  they 
came  so  close  to  blows,  apparently,  that  they  parted 
company,  Tom  to  fume  over  his  liquor  at  one  end  of 
the  bar  while  Gaston  drank  a  small  glass  of  beer  with 
McCarthy  at  the  other  end.  The  Indian  slipped  out 
unobserved. 

"S'prised  to  see  you  back  in  town  so  soon,"  offered 
McCarthy  tentatively.  "Anything  go  wrong  out  at 
camp?" 

"Nothing  but  that  thing  there,"  replied  Gaston,  with 
a  disgusted  nod  at  Tom.  "He's  a  corker,  that  little 


Gaston  Has  a  Scheme          107 

partner  of  mine  is.  Wouldn't  drink  anything  to  speak 
of  yesterday  when  we  were  in  town.  But  this  morn- 
ing, just  as  the  work  got  started,  the  thirst  hit  him. 
Nothing  to  do  with  him  then  except  throw  him  down 
and  tie  him  up.  I  happened  to  be  away  from  camp 
a  few  minutes,  and  when  I  came  back  he  was  gone. 

"He's  my  partner,  you  know,  and  he  gets  bad  if  he 
gets  on  a  bat  all  alone.  I  just  naturally  had  to  come 
after  him,  trying  to  catch  him  before  he  hit  town. 
He'd  come  across  this  Hale  with  a  hole  in  his  leg  be- 
fore I  caught  him.  He  wouldn't  go  back  then — too 
good  a  chance  to  get  a  ride  to  town.  Well,  he's  my 
partner.  I  had  to  come  along  to  watch  him;  but  I'll 
have  him  back  in  camp  to-night  or  break  his  little 
back." 

McCarthy  winked  and  lowered  his  voice. 

"No  need  to  do  that.  Any  time  you're  ready  to 
start  we'll  slip  a  few  drops  o'  medicine  into  his  drink 
and  he'll  go  to  sleep  like  a  little  babe." 

"We'll  try  it  later,  maybe.  He's  bound  to  make 
the  rounds.  When  he's  through  mebbe  he'll  listen  to 
reason." 

From  McCarthy's  the  way  led  back  toward  the  hotel. 
At  each  step  Tom  grew  more  vociferous,  and  a  crowd 
began  to  follow  along.  In  the  last  place  the  little  man 
called  himself  content  and  willing  to  start  back  to 
camp ;  so  out  they  came  tumbling,  arm  in  arm,  and 
lurched  down  to  the  stables.  There  the  stableman, 
laughing  at  Tom's  efforts  to  help  him,  hooked  up  a 
light  team,  and  the  drive  to  camp  was  begun. 

In  the  tamarack  swamp,  two  miles  out,  they  met 
Taggart,  with  Charley,  the  Indian,  in  the  cutter  beside 
him.  Gaston  saw  that  the  latter  was  wet  with  per- 
spiration and  knew  that  he  had  run  out  from  Mc- 
Carthy's to  meet  his  employer. 

Taggart  was  thoroughly  sober  now.     He  sat  sunk 


io8  Gaston  Olaf 

down  in  the  cutter,  his  chin  on  his  chest,  his  eyes  cold, 
elusive.  He  did  not  pull  up  as  the  sleighs  swung  out 
to  pass  in  the  narrow  road.  He  did  not  even  look  up. 

"You'll  never  go  far  with  such  a  partner,  Thorson," 
he  whined  as  he  whisked  past. 

Gaston  gave  a  great  sigh  of  relief.  Indian  Charley 
apparently  had  repeated  the  tale  Gaston  had  spun  for 
his  benefit  in  McCarthy's  and  Taggart  had  accepted  it, 
never  crediting  Gaston  and  Tom  with  subtleness 
enough  for  guile.  That  danger  was  past. 

"And  now,"  thought  Gaston,  "we'll  see  if  a  young 
wolf  can  out-fox  an  old  one." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

TOM  PINE  IS  PUZZLED 

IN  the  next  two  weeks  Gaston  Olaf  satisfied  Tag- 
gart  that  his  judgment  of  the  young  man  had  not 
been  amiss.  As  a  man-driver  and  company  bully  of  a 
rotten  hell-camp,  Gaston  proved  himself  well  up  to  the 
difficult  Taggart  standard.  Murphy,  the  camp-boss, 
laid  out  the  work ;  Gaston  flung  the  men  at  it. 

Sometime  in  his  career  Murphy  undoubtedly  had 
learned  the  logging  business  under  masters  of  the 
craft.  His  skill  in  directing  the  work  so  that  the  logs 
went  rolling  out  on  the  ice  of  the  lake  with  the  least 
confusion,  marked  him  for  an  expert  logger.  As  a 
handler  of  men  he  was  hopeless,  the  men  reading  the 
constant  fear  in  his  eyes  and  laughing  at  him  when  he 
attempted  mastery. 

They  did  not  laugh  at  Gaston.  He  had  set  his  foot 
too  firmly  on  their  necks  in  the  beginning.  When  he 
shouted  they  jumped,  and  he  shouted  often.  His  man- 
ner was  changed.  He  laughed  but  seldom,  and  a  cer- 
tain fierce  grimness  had  taken  the  place  of  his  old  reck- 
lessness. Often  he  paced  to  and  fro  behind  a  crew, 
hands  behind  his  back,  head  thrust  forward,  appar- 
ently oblivious  of  their  presence.  But  let  them  slacken 
a  moment  in  their  work  and : 

"Hi!  Wake  up,  you  rats!  Want  me  to  put  the 
corks  to  you?" 

No  crew  of  true  lumberjacks — the  cockiest  type  of 
worker  in  the  world — would  have  stood  his  driving  for 

109 


no  Gaston  Olaf 

one  day,  and  not  for  a  minute  would  Gaston  have  at- 
tempted to  drive  them  so. 

But  these  were  not  true  lumberjacks.  They  were 
beaten,  broken  men,  or  men  with  a  price  on  their  heads, 
who  knew  they  were  safe  only  under  Taggart's  pro- 
tection. 

At  rare  intervals  one  of  them,  the  strength  coming 
back  to  his  heart  and  muscles  through  enforced  ab- 
stinence and  hard  labour,  ventured  to  grumble.  And 
then  the  others  looked  at  him  after  Gaston  had  dealt 
punishment  and  bent  their  backs  lower  in  toil. 

At  times  Gaston  went  away  by  himself.  Tom  Pine 
saw  him  sometimes  at  a  distance,  tramping  feverishly 
up  and  down  between  the  pines,  his  hands  clenched 
behind  his  back,  head  forward,  eyes  on  the  ground. 
Sometimes  at  night  he  was  seen  so.  He  did  not  sleep 
well.  Tom  Pine,  attempting  to  chaff  him  out  of  the 
mood,  was  rebuffed. 

"Dry  up.  Can't  you  ever  get  over  talking  and  think- 
ing like  a  boy  ?"  Gaston  was  very  curt.  "Boy's  talk ! 
Silly  nonsense!  What  kind  of  talk  is  that  for  grown 
men  to  have  in  their  mouths?" 

Tom  Pine  did  not  understand.  Here  were  he  and 
Gaston  Olaf  bent  on  saving  this  pine  for  that  girl 
down  in  Havens  Falls,  and  yet  here  was  Gaston  Olaf 
doing  his  best  to  get  the  pine  down  in  a  hurry,  doing 
his  best,  apparently,  to  serve  Taggart's  ends.  For 
under  Gaston's  dynamic  driving  the  crew  of  bums  was 
rivalling  in  its  daily  output  that  of  a  crew  of  real  lum- 
berjacks. 

Each  day  the  dark  carpet  of  logs  spread  farther 
out  over  the  white  Winter  covering  of  the  lake.  Each 
day  the  clearing  grew  larger,  the  number  of  pines 
standing  were  fewer. 

"Gaston  Olaf,"  Tom  burst  out  testily  one  morning 
as  he  noted  how  the  cut  was  growing,  "I  know  you 


Tom  Pine  Is  Puzzled          in 

ain't  no  Swede,  and  I  don't  go  for  to  call  you  one,  but 
I  do  put  it  up  to  you  that  you  certainly  don't  seem  to 
be  showing  no  more  brains  than  if  you  was  one." 

"So?"  Gaston  did  not  laugh,  but  merely  stood  and 
waited  for  Tom  to  explain. 

"You  bet.  Here  we're  out  to  help  these  lone  women 
folk  save  their  pine,  and  instead  of  doing  it,  here  you're 
driving  hell-bent- for-election  to  get  the  stuff  down — 
playing  right  in  Taggart's  hands." 

"Yes?" 

"Well,  ain't  you?" 

"Am  I?" 

Tom  Pine  swung  away  in  disgust. 

"HelPs-fire-and-six-bits !  I'm  your  partner ;  you  got 

a  right  to  let  me  know  your  scheme,  but  I'll  be 

if  I  ask  you  what  it  is." 

Gaston  made  no  reply.  But  as  the  cut  grew  larger, 
he  grew  more  and  more  moody,  walked  more  by  him- 
self, and  grew  troubled  about  the  eyes.  To  hide  these 
signs  he  drove  the  men  harder  and  harder. 

One  Saturday  morning  Gaston  came  down  to  the 
stable  where  Tom  was  bringing  out  his  team,  and  Tom, 
looking  at  him  by  the  light  of  a  lantern,  saw  that  the 
troubled  look  was  gone  from  Gaston's  eyes  and  that  he 
almost  smiled. 

"Tom  Pine,"  he  said  with  just  a  touch  of  the  old 
manner,  "I  think  it  is  time  for  you  to  break  loose 
again." 

"Hah?" 

"The  time  has  come,  Tom  Pine,  for  the  thirst  to 
hit  you,  hard  and  sudden.  You're  going  to  sneak  off 
and  quit.  You're  going  to  hit  town  and  let  'er  roar 
a  little.  Is  that  plain  ?" 

"Plain  as  a  bird's  flight  to  a  blind  man,  Gaston  Olaf. 
What'n'ell  you  driving  at?" 

Gaston  made  sure  that  they  were  quite  alone. 


H2  Gaston  Olaf 

"I  want  to  see  that  man,  Hale,  and  you've  got  to 
be  the  go-between.  So  you  quit,  and  go  and  stay  in 
town.  You  tell  Hale  I  want  to  see  him  down  by  the 
Big  Bayou  on  the  La  Croix  to-morrow  night,  Sunday, 
at  that  bayou  he's  got  marked  as  a  good  mill-site  on 
that  map  of  his,  you  know.  Tell  him  to  slip  away 
on  the  quiet  and  be  there  about  eight  o'clock.  Tell 
him  it's  just  the  three  of  us  to  know  about  it." 

"All  right,  Gaston  Olaf.  Now  you  go  on  and  tell 
me  what  scheme  you  got." 

Gaston  shook  his  head,  his  jaw  set  forbiddingly. 

"Don't  talk  like  a  boy.  This  is  no  time  for  such 
stuff.  Do  what  you're  told  and  don't  talk  about  it.  I 
want  to  see  Hale  at  Big  Bayou  to-morrow  night  at 
eight.  And  don't  act  like  a  kid  when  you  get  to  town, 
and  get  drunk  and  blab  all  you  know." 

Tom  Pine  looked  wonderingly  after  Gaston  as  the 
latter  strode  away  toward  where  the  men  were  begin- 
ning work. 

"That's  a of  a  way  to  treat  a  pardner,"  mused 

the  little  man,  "but  I  know  you,  Gaston  Olaf,  I  know 
you  like  a  book,  and  I  suspect  you've  figgered  out  a  big 
scheme,  and  I'd  be  a  poor  pardner  if  I  didn't  obey 
your  orders  and  quit  this  beautiful  job  and  go  to  town 
and  let  'er  roar." 

Tom  did  not  travel  the  tote-road  when,  soon  after 
this,  he  slipped  away  unobserved.  The  craft  and  guile 
of  the  old  woodser  was  Tom's,  and  he  had  no  notion 
of  risking  himself  in  the  vicinity  of  the  old  camp  build- 
ing on  the  creek. 

"If  I  did,  that  rifle  artist  might  see  me,  and  then  I 
might  not  be  able  to  let  'er  roar  according  to  Gaston 
Olaf's  orders." 

So  he  swung  far  into  the  timber  away  from  the 
creek,  circled  the  big  ridge,  and  made  his  trail  toward 
Havens  Falls  run  parallel  to  the  tote-road  but  half  a 


Tom  Pine  Is  Puzzled  113 

mile  to  one  side.  However,  half-way  to  town,  his 
curiosity  overcame  him.  The  Big  Bayou  on  the  La 
Croix,  where  Gaston  had  appointed  his  rendezvous 
with  Hale,  was  constantly  in  his  mind. 

What  did  the  bayou  have  to  do  with  it?  Was  it 
possible  that  a  man  might  get  a  hint  of  Gaston's 
scheme  by  taking  a  look  at  the  bayou  ? 

Tom  paused,  took  his  bearings  and  saw  that  he  was 
about  six  miles  from  town,  which  was  just  the  dis- 
tance at  which  the  bayou  was  marked  on  Hale's  map. 

"And  it  ain't  more'n  three-quarters  of  a  mile  over 
to  the  La  Croix,"  mused  Tom.  "I'll  step  over  and  take 
a  look." 

He  found  the  bayou  with  little  trouble.  It  was  prac- 
tically a  long,  narrow  lake,  lying  parallel  to  the  river 
and  separated  from  it  only  by  a  narrow  spine  of  earth 
perhaps  twenty  feet  high  and  ten  feet  wide.  The  lower 
end  of  the  bayou  was  connected  with  the  river  by  a 
narrow  opening  in  the  bank,  through  which  the  river 
overflowed  in  high  water.  The  river  along  the 
bayou  was  narrow  and  punctuated  here  and  there  by 
jagged  black  rocks  which  jutted  up  above  the  soft 
grey  ice. 

"A  hard  place  to  take  a  drive  through,"  said  Tom, 
studying  the  scene  with  knowing  eyes,  "and  that  fel- 
low Hale  is  right  about  that  bayou  making  a  sweet 
log-pond  if  they  was  a  mill  on  it.  But  what'n'ell  has 
that  got  to  do  with  getting  the  start  of  old  Taggart?" 

He  puzzled  his  grey  head  over  the  problem  in  vain. 

"But  Gaston  Olaf,  he  sees,"  he  concluded,  as  he 
turned  away;  and  confident  of  his  leader's  scheme, 
though  ignorant  of  what  it  was,  he  swung  back  away 
from  the  river  and  went  on  his  way  to  town. 

He  did  not  seek  out  Hale  immediately  upon  his 
arrival  in  the  settlement.  He  first  let  'er  roar  a  little 
to  let  people  know  that  he  was  in  town  and  on  a  bat. 


H4  Gaston  Olaf 

When  he  had  sufficiently  advertised  this  fact  he 
lurched  up  to  Dr.  Sanders's  office. 

"What  ho!  Drunk  again,  eh?"  greeted  the  doctor. 
"Have  one  with  me." 

"Look  again,  Doc,"  said  Tom.  "Do  I  look  drunk 
now?" 

Dr.  Sanders  whistled. 

"You  certainly  looked  drunk  coming  in.  Drunk  in 
the  legs.  Sober  in  the  eye.  What's  the  idea?" 

"Where's  Hale?" 

"Sitting  up  in  his  room  across  the  street." 

"All  right.  Have  me  that  drink  ready,  Doc.  I'll 
be  back  to  get  it  pretty  quick." 

He  staggered  so  when  he  crossed  the  street  that 
Hulda,  meeting  him  on  the  stairway,  made  to  bar  his 
way. 

"Message  from  Dr.  Sanders  to  Mr.  Hale,"  said  Tom 
gruffly.  "Doctor's  business." 

"Of,  ef  et's  Dr.  Sanders " 

Tom  slipped  by  and  found  Hale  in  an  armchair, 
busy  with  papers  and  books. 

"Thorson  says  he  wants  to  see  you  at  the  big  bayou 
at  eight  to-morrow  night,  and  tell  nobody,  and  let  no- 
body see  you  go,"  he  said.  "But  how'n'ell  are  you 
going  to  make  it  if  your  leg's  still  bunged  up?" 

"Did  Thorson  send  you  in  to  tell  me  that?" 

"He  shore  did." 

"Then  I'll  be  there,"  said  Hale  quietly,  and  turned 
to  his  papers. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
"FOR  ROSE  HAVENS" 

ON  Sunday  evening  Gaston  lay  on  a  bed  of 
balsam  boughs  on  the  spit  of  land  separating  the 
river  from  the  Big  Bayou,  and  with  hands  folded  be- 
hind his  head  stared  upward  at  the  troubled  April  sky. 
And  he  smiled.  For  the  sky  to  his  knowing  eye  had 
lost  the  crispness  of  Winter. 

The  stars  no  longer  gleamed  with  the  cold  glitter 
of  points  of  brittle  ice;  in  their  gleam  was  a  certain 
tinge  of  softness,  as  if  the  Winter  crispness  in  them 
had  thawed.  The  clouds  that  drove  northward  were 
not  Winter  clouds.  Snow  they  contained,  perhaps, 
but  to  Gaston  their  textures  betrayed  the  fact  that 
Winter  had  lost  its  stern  grip  on  the  heavens.  The 
break-up  was  on  its  way. 

In  that  northern  country  Winter  reluctantly  re- 
leased its  grip  only  after  the  calendar  counted  Spring 
a  month  old.  But  now  the  signs  of  the  break-up  were 
prominent,  and  Gaston  smiled.  For  in  the  waning 
light  of  that  afternoon  he  had  gone  over  the  Big  Bayou 
and  had  made  sure  that  his  reading  of  Hale's  map  was 
correct,  and  that  the  Big  Bayou  was  well  fitted  to 
further  his  scheme. 

So  now  he  lay  at  ease  on  his  balsams  waiting  for 
Hale,  and  smiled  at  the  sky,  and  thought  of  Rose. 

A  buck  suddenly  jumped  from  the  dark  timber  on 
to  the  white  strip  of  snow  along  the  river,  stood  for  an 
instant  listening,  snorted  and  like  a  shadow  fled  across 

"5 


n6  Gaston  Olaf 

the  ice  of  the  river  and  disappeared  in  the  darkness 
beyond. 

"Something  coming,"  thought  Gaston.  "That  buck 
was  scared." 

Many  minutes  later  he  caught  the  sound  of  a  wary 
footfall  in  the  woods.  The  steps  came  nearer.  A 
dark  figure  came  slowly  up  the  bank.  Gaston  waited 
until  he  saw  the  short,  limping  figure  outlined  against 
the  white  snow  and  called  : 

"All  right,  Hale.    This  way." 

He  lay  stretched  at  ease  in  his  comfortable  position 
without  moving,  while  Hale  fumbled  forward  in  the 
darkness.  By  this  time  he  knew  Hale  well  enough  to 
expect  that  he  would  keep  the  appointment,  still,  at 
the  sight  of  him  limping  along  in  the  darkness,  obvi- 
ously out  of  place  and  helpless  in  the  woods,  Gaston 
was  surprised. 

Hale  was  a  town  man,  and  crippled  at  that,  and  the 
woods  at  night  were  no  place  for  such,  but  here  he 
was,  coming  along  quietly,  doggedly,  as  he  did  most 
things.  Gaston  felt  one  of  his  old  impulses  to  slap 
the  little  man  on  the  back,  to  cheer  him,  to  call  him 
the  game  little  man  that  he  was.  But  always  with 
Hale  there  came  thoughts  of  Rose.  So  Gaston  lay 
without  moving  his  hands  from  behind  his  head  and 
said  simply — 

"How'd  you  come  out?" 

"Rode  my  little  pony  up  the  road,  tied  him  in  the 
brush,  and  walked  over." 

"Where's  Taggart's  Indian?" 

"In  town." 

"Huh!    Then  I  s'pose  he  trailed  you  out." 

"Hardly.  I  started  in  the  other  direction — down 
toward  La  Croix.  There  is  a  decent  element  in  La 
Croix,  too.  I  go  down  there  occasionally.  We  are 
trying  to  organise  for  the  Spring  election — to  get  a 


"For  Rose  Havens"  117 

decent  sheriff  if  we  can.  Indian  Charley  saw  me  go, 
but  he  didn't  follow." 

"How  do  you  know  ?" 

"I  stopped  and  back-tracked  when  I  was  a  mile  out 
of  town.  Then  I  circled  back  of  the  settlement  and 
came  up  here." 

"And  I  suppose  you  tied  your  nag  on  this  side  of 
the  road?" 

"No.  On  the  other  side.  And  I  made  tracks  in  the 
opposite  direction  for  a  short  distance." 

Gaston  smiled. 

"Hale,  if  I'd  caught  you  young  I  believe  I  could 
have  made  a  fair  woodsman  out  of  you."  Suddenly 
he  dropped  his  bantering  tone.  "How  much  dyna- 
mite can  you  lay  your  hands  on  in  the  next  two  weeks 
— before  the  break-up,  say?" 

"Dynamite  ?  Oh,  I've  got  a  fairly  large  stock  of  that 
on  hand,  for  stump-blasting." 

"Do  you  notice  how  this  narrow  ridge  we're  laying 
on  separates  the  river  from  the  Big  Bayou?" 

"I've  noticed  it  often." 

"Almost  like  a  dam-wall.  Look  at  it  close.  If 
there  was  a  gap  blown  in  the  upper  end  of  the  ridge 
there,  at  the  head  of  the  bayou,  the  river  would  swing 
into  it  considerably,  wouldn't  it?" 

"Yes." 

"And  if  the  river  channel  was  blocked  right  there 
where  those  rocks  show,  with  the  gap  in  this  bank 
just  above  it,  the  whole  current  would  swing  into  the 
bayou  strong,  wouldn't  it?" 

"Yes." 

"All  right.  Can  you  lay  hands  on  enough  dynamite 
to  shoot  a  gap  in  this  bank?" 

"How  big  a  gap?" 

"Twenty  feet  wide  might  do  it — thirty  would  be  bet- 
ter. We'll  have  to  get  our  dynamite  down  low,  level 


n8  Gaston  Olaf 

with  the  river-bed.  Put  in  say  a  dozen  good  shots  a 
couple  of  feet  apart.  That  would  topple  her  over  and 
the  water  would  carry  the  dirt  away." 

Hale  calculated  for  a  moment. 

"Yes,  I  can  get  plenty  of  dynamite  for  that." 

"And  a  couple  of  dirt  augers  to  do  the  boring  with, 
and  a  couple  of  axes  and  peavies?" 

"Yes." 

"And  two  good  heavy  boom-chains,  one  about  a 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  long,  the  other  about  seventy- 
five?" 

"I  can  get  all  that  stuff,  Thorson.  Now,  will  you 
tell  me  what  it's  all  for?" 

Gaston  debated  awhile. 

"For  Rose  Havens,"  he  said  at  last. 

Hale  looked  at  him,  looked  away  up  the  river  for  a 
space,  then  put  his  hand  to  his  wounded  leg. 

"I  understand,  Thorson,"  he  said.  "I — I  guess  I'd 
better  be  getting  back  to  town.  That's  all  you  wanted 
to  see  me  about,  is  it?" 

Gaston  rose. 

"That's  all.  How  about  it  now?  I've  turned  my 
cards  face  up.  Are  you  still  willing  to  furnish  me  the 
stuff,  and  keep  this  all  under  cover?" 

"Certainly."  Hale  was  hobbling  away.  "When  do 
you  want  it?" 

"If  you'll  get  it  together  and  have  it  ready  for  me 
where  I  can  get  it  when  I  want  it,  that'll  be  the  ticket." 

"All  right." 

Hale  was  in  the  timber.  Suddenly  Gaston's  heart 
smote  him. 

"Hold  on,  old  boy!"  he  cried.  "Let  me  give  you  a 
hand  to  your  horse." 

"No — no,  thanks,  Thorson,"  said  Hale  promptly. 
"I — I'd  rather  go  it  alone  if  you  don't  mind." 

Nevertheless  Gaston  followed  him  through  the  tim- 


"For  Rose  Havens"  119 

her  and  saw  he  mounted  his  pony  and  was  safely  on 
his  way  to  town.  Then  he  turned  and  struck  off  by  a 
roundabout  way  for  Taggart's  camp. 

"Darn  him!"  he  mused  as  he  hurried  along.  "I 
never  intended  to  even  mention  her,  but  he's  so  square 
I  had  to  give  him  his  warning." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE   SPRING   BREAK-UP 

THAT  night  it  grew  warmer.  When  the  men 
tumbled  out  for  work  on  Monday  morning  there 
was  a  softness  in  the  air  which  had  not  been  before. 
The  snow  was  soft  underfoot.  In  the  forest  tiny  traces 
of  moisture  began  to  ooze  between  the  bark  and  trunks 
of  the  trees,  while  out  upon  the  white  expanse  of  the 
snow-covered  lake  there  began  to  appear  dark  spots  of 
varying  size. 

Gaston  cast  eyes  on  the  lake  the  first  thing  that 
morning.  At  the  sight  of  the  dark  spots  in  the  snow 
he  ran  quickly  out  for  a  closer  view.  When  he  came 
back  there  was  a  glimmer  of  the  old  battle-light  in  his 
eyes  and  his  jaw  was  set  with  new  grimness. 

"The  Spring-holes  are  breaking  through,  Murphy," 
he  said  to  the  camp  boss.  "You  know  what  that 
means." 

"Sure.  Means  the  break-up's  due  in  a  couple  weeks 
or  so." 

"It  means  more  than  that,  Murphy.  It  means  that 
the  end  of  this  job  is  in  sight,  because  the  drive  starts 
the  minute  the  ice  starts  running,  and  there'll  be  no 
logging  here  after  that." 

"Sure;  that's  what  I  said.  Means  we'll  be  out  of 
here  in  a  couple  of  weeks." 

"It  means  that  this  bunch  of  bums  will  have  to  jump 
from  this  minute  on,  that's  what  it  means,"  said  Gas- 
ton.  "It  means  that  they'll  have  to  hustle  in  a  way 
to  make  sure  that  this  job  will  be  cut  clean  before  the 
break-up  comes." 

120 


The  Spring  Break-up  121 

Murphy  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  haven't  got  any  orders  like  that.  I  guess  the  old 
man  wouldn't  holler  if  there  should  happen  to  be  a 
few  trees  left  standing  when  we  duck  out." 

"Maybe  not.  Maybe  Taggart  wouldn't  kick.  But 
I" —  Gaston  smiled — "I  certainly  would  kick  myself  if 
I  didn't  get  out  every  pound  of  work  there's  in  this 
crew  before  we  quit.  Understand,  Murphy  ?  I'm  here 
to  get  every  possible  saw-log  out  of  this  crew  of  Tag- 
gart's.  I'm  out  to  set  a  record.  This  is  going  to  be 
a  job  that  will  be  camp-talk  for  years  to  come." 

"You  must  want  awful  bad  to  get  solid  with  the  old 
man." 

"You  bet !"  laughed  Gaston.  "I  want  to,  long  as  I 
live." 

He  walked  among  the  men  that  morning  and  told 
them  frankly  that  he  demanded  a  record. 

"You've  only  got  a  couple  weeks  left  to  go,  but  for 
that  time  you've  got  to  go  like  thunder.  Make  up  your 
mind  to  that.  There's  no  way  of  soldiering  out  of  it; 
you  know  me.  So  grab  hold  and  go  after  that 
record." 

Tom  Pine  would  have  been  puzzled  still  more  had 
he  been  able  to  see  Gaston's  conduct  for  the  next  two 
weeks.  He  now  seemed  to  have  but  one  aim  in  life — 
for  Taggart's  crew  to  log  the  last  of  Rose  Havens's 
white  pines  before  the  ice  went  out.  If  the  work 
lagged  for  want  of  a  strong  back,  a  quick  pair  of 
hands,  or  a  skilfully  wielded  axe,  he  leaped  into  the 
breach  himself. 

"He's  crazy,"  growled  Murphy,  making  his  report  to 
Taggart.  "Why,  when  a  team  gets  stuck  skidding  he 
grabs  hold  of  the  chain  and  pulls  with  'em." 

Taggart,  who  never  permitted  himself  to  be  seen 
at  the  camp,  nodded  appreciatively  at  such  reports. 

"Exactly.    That's  the  kind  of  men  who  have  steam 


122  Gaston  Olaf 

in  them,  Murphy,  men  with  no  dread  of  the  rope  spoil- 
ing their  sleep.  Well,  well.  When  I  get  a  proper 
hold  over  Thorson  I've  no  doubt  he  will  be  the  most 
valuable  fool  I  have  on  my  pay-roll." 

And  Gaston  Olaf  continued  to  drive  and  heave  and 
work  like  one  possessed.  Had  Taggart  been  there  to 
see  with  his  deep-set  little  eyes  he  might  have  read  in 
the  young  man's  dynamic  demand  for  results  some- 
thing more  than  a  mere  desire  to  make  good  on  his  first 
job.  But  Taggart  did  not  see. 

Taggart  was  very  careful  not  to  permit  the  pos- 
sibility of  being  seen  at  or  near  the  camp.  Taggart 
was  very  careful  to  let  it  be  known  that  he  had  never 
been  at  the  camp,  did  not  even  know  for  sure  where 
it  was ;  that  he  trusted  entirely  to  his  cruisers  and  work- 
ing bosses  at  this  camp.  So  he  did  not  see;  he  had 
his  knowledge  of  Gaston's  tactics  entirely  through  the 
eyes  of  Murphy;  and  Murphy  saw  Gaston  only  as  a 
man  who  was  making  strenuous  efforts  to  "get  solid 
with  the  old  man." 

One  grey,  muggy  afternoon  when  snow,  ice,  trees — 
the  whole  world — seemed  to  be  steaming,  Gaston 
walked  down  the  lake  to  where  the  river  ran  out  and 
saw  running  down  the  middle  of  the  stream  a  wide 
ribbon  of  black  water.  In  the  lake,  above  the  head 
of  the  stream,  likewise,  was  an  opening  of  clear  water. 

At  intervals  a  rotting  piece  of  grey  ice  cracked  loose, 
slid  into  the  water,  and  was  whisked  down-stream.  It 
had  grown  warmer  through  the  night,  and  the  break-up 
was  threatening. 

Gaston  looked  back  at  the  narrow  strip  of  trees  com- 
prising the  remainder  of  Rose  Havens's  white  pines. 
There  remained  probably  a  two  days'  cut  of  the  timber. 
Gaston  was  anxious  to  remain  at  the  camp  until  the 
last  tree  was  down,  but  as  he  looked  up  at  the  grey, 
dripping  sky  he  saw  that  this  might  not  be. 


The  Spring  Break-up  123 

There  was  a  probability  of  rain  in  the  clouds  above, 
a  warm,  thawing  Spring  rain.  If  it  came  the  ice 
would  go  out  in  a  rush,  the  lake  would  rise,  and  the 
first  free  logs  of  the  cut  would  start  down  the  river. 
As  Gaston  had  several  highly  important  matters  to  ac- 
complish before  such  an  eventuality,  he  merely  looked 
around  to  make  sure  that  he  was  unobserved  and  de- 
parted from  that  camp  suddenly  and  for  good. 

Four  hours  later  Dr.  Sanders's  dog,  Samson,  hear- 
ing a  light  tapping  on  the  rear  window  of  the  doctor's 
private  sanctum,  emitted  the  ominous  growl  with 
which  he  presaged  the  coming  of  his  full-throated 
bark.  Dr.  Sanders  came  in  to  investigate.  At  first 
he  started  at  what  he  saw  through  the  window.  A 
few  seconds  later  he  locked  the  door  to  the  front  office, 
opened  the  window  and  assisted  Gaston  to  crawl  into 
the  room. 

"What  ho !"  The  doctor,  being  an  experienced  man, 
had  closed  the  window  and  pulled  down  the  curtain 
before  uttering  a  word  of  greeting.  "Hm,  hm.  I 
say,  'Big  Fellow,'  you  do  pick  original  ways  in  which 
to  hit  town.  First  on  Red  Shirt's  neck,  next  with 
Hale  and  his  bum  leg,  and  now  through  my  back 
window.  I — I'm  getting  keener  for  you  every  time  I 
see  you,  Thorson.  You're  original.  Have  some  of 
the  few  drops  of  hooch  Tom  Pine  and  I  have  saved 
for  you." 

"Tom's  in  town,  then  ?" 

"Yep.  In  town  and  in  sorrow.  He  says  that  town 
is  no  place  for  him,  and  if  it  wasn't  for  your  orders 
he'd  be  out  in  the  bush,  which  is  the  only  fit  place  for 
a  man  to  live,  according  to  him." 

"Can  you  get  Tom  here,  Doc,  and  Hale,  without 
letting  any  one  else  know  I'm  in  town  ?" 

The  doctor  looked  Gaston  over  with  half-closed 
eyes. 


124  Gaston  Olaf 

"Something  in  the  wind,  Thorson?" 

"Something  in  the  wind." 

"Going  to  tell  me  what  it  is?" 

"Going  to  tell  nobody  what  it  is." 

"Quite  so." 

The  doctor  nodded.  He  saw  that  it  was  a  different 
Gaston,  cold,  grim,  cautious,  dogged,  who  was  before 
him,  and  he  went  forth  without  another  word. 

Gaston  spoke  without  greetings  when  Tom  Pine  and 
Hale  came  into  the  room: 

"No  need  for  you  to  hear  any  of  this,  Doc,  nor  you, 
Tom;  the  fewer,  the  safer.  That's  right;  you  two 
keep  watch  outside.  Well,  Hale,  have  you  got  that 
outfit  together?" 

"Yes." 

"Where  is  it?" 

"In  the  cellar  of  my  store." 

"And  a  couple  Winchesters  with  about  two  hundred 
cartridges  and  grub  for  a  week  ?" 

"I've  got  them  in  stock." 

"All  right.  Can  you  haul  it  all  out  there — you  know 
where — to-night  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Will  you  do  it?" 

"Yes." 

Gaston  sat  silent  a  moment. 

"Hale,  are  you  doing  this  with  a  free  heart — with- 
out anything  against  me?" 

"I  think  so,  Thorson;  yes.  I  am  human.  I  have 
feelings.  But  I  can  truthfully  say  that  I  do  this  with- 
out any  malice — that  I  even  do  it  eagerly." 

"I  don't  just  see  how  you  can  do  it,  Hale." 

Hale  looked  away. 

"I'm  Miss  Havens's  agent — and  I  can't  save  her  logs 
for  her,"  he  said.  "I  believe  you  can.  I  am  glad  if 


The  Spring  Break-up  125 

you  can  do  it.  I  am  anxious  to  do  what  I  can  to  help 
you." 

Gaston  felt  very  uncomfortable.  He  rubbed  his 
chin,  looked  sidewise  at  Hale,  looked  at  the  floor.  Sud- 
denly he  sat  up  straight,  listening.  On  the  tin  roof  of 
the  doctor's  little  building  came  a  soft,  rhythmic  drum- 
ming, pleasant  to  listen  to,  suggestive  of  Spring,  of 
soft,  steaming  earth,  of  green  things  growing. 

"Rain,"  said  Gaston  quietly. 

He  rose,  relieved.  No  time  for  finer  feelings  now; 
no  time  for  anything  but  action. 

"She's  coming,"  he  said.  "The  logs  will  be  on  run- 
ning water  within  twenty-four  hours.  Hale,  we've  got 
to  get  that  stuff  out  of  town  and  up  there  as  soon  as 
we  can  without  being  seen." 

Hale  nodded.  'That  can  be  done  right  away.  No- 
body's likely  to  be  out  in  this  rain." 

"Then  let  it  be  right  away.  Tom  Pine  will  help 
you  load.  I'll  meet  you  fellows  on  the  road  some 
place." 

He  waited  until  Hale  and  Tom  had  gone,  then  slid 
past  the  curious  doctor  into  the  black,  wet  night.  Be- 
side the  doctor's  building  he  paused  an  instant  and 
held  his  hands  out  in  the  rain.  He  smiled  grimly  as 
he  felt  that  the  drops  were  warm. 

It  was  a  true  Spring  rain,  starting  in  with  a  quiet, 
steady  patter  that  presaged  a  heavy  rainfall  before 
morning.  The  ground,  now  bare  and  brown  in  spots, 
had  begun  to  steam  warmly.  There  was  no  mistake 
about  it,  fortune  favoured  him  so  far.  The  break-up 
was  coming  suddenly  this  Spring,  and  this  served  his 
purpose  admirably. 

Gaston  did  not  start  at  once  up  the  river.  Through 
the  mist  and  rain  the  lights  from  the  houses  shone 
hazily,  yet  one  of  these  lights  attracted  and  held  his 
attention.  It  shone  from  the  house  in  the  big  yard 


126  Gaston  Olaf 

behind  the  post-office  and  Gaston  stood  and  stared  at 
it  as  if  fascinated. 

"Yes,"  he  mused  after  awhile,  "that's  from  the 
dining-room,  all  right." 

He  had  neglected  to  button  his  mackinaw,  and  the 
rain  was  finding  its  way  down  his  neck,  but  he  failed 
to  notice  it.  Presently  he  began  stalking  slowly  toward 
the  hazy  light,  the  softened  ground  and  snow  squirting 
beneath  his  rubbers. 

He  took  a  roundabout  way,  climbed  over  the  fence 
and  cautiously  moved  toward  the  window  whence  the 
light  shone.  The  light  drew  him  as  a  magnet.  He 
stood  to  one  side  of  the  window  and  peered  in. 

Rose  and  her  mother  were  at  the  table.  Gaston 
looked  long  and  prayerfully.  Then  he  swung  away 
from  the  light  toward  the  darkness,  the  wet,  the  hard- 
ships of  the  woods ;  and  he  carried  with  him  a  dream 
which  at  times  intoxicated  him  with  hope,  and  which 
again  he  put  from  him  as  something  for  which  he 
was  completely  unfitted. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  TRAP 

WHEN  he  struck  the  river  road  he  heard  the 
plump  of  hoofs  and  the  rumble  of  wheels  ahead 
of  him.  Presently  he  made  out  Hale's  voice,  steady- 
ing the  horses  in  low  tones.  Then  the  deep  tones  of 
Tom  Pine,  who  was  riding  with  Hale. 

Gaston  made  no  move  to  overtake  the  wagon.  He 
was  in  no  mood  to  ride  beside  Hale.  For  Hale  per- 
sisted in  appearing  and  reappearing  in  the  dream 
which  Gaston  was  dreaming.  Hale  would  have  fitted 
in  the  picture  which  Gaston  had  seen  through  the  win- 
dow; but,  try  as  he  would,  Gaston  could  not  quite  see 
himself  as  a  part  of  it. 

"Hale,  there,  he's  one  solid,  dependable  citizen,"  he 
soliloquised  as  he  trudged  along.  "He's  the  kind  who's 
got  a  right  to  things  like  that.  I'm  about  as  depend- 
able as  a  single  wolf  on  the  travel.  And  a  wolf  cer- 
tainly has  no  right  to  things  like  that." 

He  plumped  ahead,  rolling  the  matter  over  and  over 
in  his  mind. 

"Oh,  well,  I  suppose  a  man  can  change,  can't  he?" 
he  argued  with  himself.  "Of  course,  the  way  I  am 
now  I  wouldn't  have  any  business  thinking  of  her.  But 
if  I  can  change " 

The  dream  was  on  again.  He  marched  forward, 
lost  in  his  thoughts,  until  he  heard  Hale  pull  up  at 
their  rendezvous. 

"All  right,  Hale,"  he  said,  coming  up  to  the  wagon. 
"We'll  unload  right  here.  Then  you  get  back  to  town 

127 


128  Gaston  Olaf 

as  quick  as  you  can.  No  use  your  running  chances  of 
being  seen  out  here  to-night." 

The  wagon  was  swiftly  unloaded.  Hale  turned  the 
team  back  toward  the  settlement. 

"Anything  more,  Thorson?"  he  asked. 

"No,  thanks." 

"All  right.     Good  luck,  then.    Giddap." 

"Hold  on."  Gaston  sprang  forward.  "Hale,  I  want 
to  shake  hands  with  you — if  you'll  do  it." 

"Why,  sure." 

Their  hands  met  in  the  darkness.  Gaston  searched 
for  an  expression  of  his  feelings  as  the  team  pulled 
away. 

"By  the  great  stump,  Hale!"  he  called,  "I  believe 
you're  as  good  a  man  as  myself." 

"And  now,"  said  Tom  Pine,  as  Gaston  turned  back 
to  him,  "I  suppose  you  got  time  to  tell  me  something 
about  what  you  been  doing  these  last  days  or  so?" 

"Later,"  replied  Gaston  briskly.  "There'll  be  plenty 
of  time  to  tell  all  about  that  later  on.  In  the  mean- 
time we  got  a  little  hard  bone-labour  ahead  of  us. 
Packing  this  load  of  truck  comes  first  of  all.  Come  on ; 
grab  a  shoulder-load  and  follow  me.  Leave  that  dyna- 
mite box  till  daylight.  We  won't  run  any  risks  of 
dropping  it  in  the  dark." 

Through  the  darkness  and  rain  Gaston  led  the  way 
straight  to  the  Big  Bayou.  At  the  first  coming  of  day- 
light they  made  their  last  trip,  to  bring  the  box  con- 
taining the  all-important  dynamite,  and  to  erase  as 
much  as  possible  all  traces  of  their  trail.  The  rain 
had  ceased  now,  the  ice  was  out,  and  the  river  was 
racing  bank-full. 

Gaston  looked  out  over  the  brown,  ice-specked  flood, 
with  practiced  eye. 

"They'll  have  the  head  of  her  down  here  to-morrow 
morning  this  time,"  he  said. 


The  Trap  129 

"Who  will?"  demanded  Tom  Pine.  "Gaston  Olaf, 
you  open  your  sluices  and  run  me  a  little  information 
or  I'm  going  to  get  real  sour  on  you.  What  are  we 
here  for  ?  What  are  we  going  to  do  here  ?  And  what's 
all  this  scheming  about?" 

Gaston  told  him  in  perhaps  a  score  of  plain,  simple 
words.  Tom  Pine's  eyes  widened,  his  mouth  opened. 
He  sat  down  slowly,  gasping  as  if  the  breath  had  been 
knocked  out  of  him. 

"Hell's  fire  and  six  bits !"  he  exploded  at  last. 

That  was  his  single  and  sole  expression  concerning 
Gaston's  revelations.  The  piratical  boldness  of  the 
scheme  revealed  deprived  him  of  the  power  of  further 
comment.  At  times  he  looked  at  Gaston  with  awe, 
at  times  a  grin  wrinkled  his  face.  And  when  Gaston 
threw  off  his  mackinaw,  Tom  Pine  promptly  did  the 
same,  eagerly  following  his  young  leader  to  the 
tremendous  task  before  them. 

First,  with  the  aid  of  a  rude  log  raft,  they  stretched 
the  long  boom-chain  straight  across  the  rock-filled 
rapids  at  a  point  slightly  below  the  head  of  Big  Bayou. 
So  far  as  log-running  was  concerned  the  river  thereby 
was  shut  off.  The  chains  would  act  as  a  net,  catching 
and  holding  the  first  logs  of  the  drive  among  the  rocks. 
The  current  would  do  the  rest. 

Given  five  minutes'  stoppage  there  in  the  rocky  chan- 
nel, and  a  drive  would  be  jammed  as  certainly  as  the 
logs  came  down.  With  this  accomplished,  and  with 
the  stream  at  flood-tide,  water  and  logs  would  seek  for 
the  line  of  least  resistance  for  a  possible  way  around 
the  obstruction. 

Gaston  Olaf  and  Tom  Pine  went  directly  from  their 
toil  in  the  icy,  rushing  water  of  the  rapids,  to  provide 
another  way  for  logs  and  current  after  the  rapids 
should  become  jammed.  In  the  narrow  point  of  land 
separating  the  head  of  Big  Bayou  and  the  river  they 


130  Gaston  Olaf 

delved  and  mined  for  the  better  part  of  half  a  day. 

"It  all  depends  on  this  shot,"  said  Gaston,  as  he 
tamped  stick  after  stick  of  dynamite  into  the  holes 
they  had  dug  below  water  level.  "If  we  can  shoot  a 
channel  into  the  bayou,  we've  got  a  chance  to  win." 

"It  will  do  it,"  said  Tom.  "It's  frozen  sand.  The 
charge  we're  putting  in  will  shoot  a  twenty-five- foot 
channel  as  sure  as  that's  dynamite." 

When  the  last  charge  was  in  place  they  covered  the 
holes  to  muffle  the  sound,  lighted  the  fuses  and  ran 
for  a  cover.  There  was  a  space  of  waiting;  then, 
down  in  the  ground,  a  sudden  rumbling,  like  deep 
thunder.  The  mined  ground  heaved  and  shook,  rose 
in  the  air,  and  spattered  the  landscape  for  hundreds 
of  yards  around. 

Gaston  and  Tom  ran  forward.  Then  they  solemnly 
shook  hands.  A  channel  twenty-five  or  thirty  feet  in 
width  had  been  blown  out  and  the  La  Croix  River  was 
pouring  a  good  portion  of  its  flood  into  the  placid 
waters  of  Big  Bayou. 

"She's  as  good  as  set,"  jubilated  Tom  Pine.  "Yes, 
sir,  Gaston  Olaf,  our  trap's  as  good  as  set." 

"When  we  get  our  boom  across  the  lower  end  of 
the  bayou  she  is,"  replied  Gaston. 

Across  the  lower  end  of  the  half -mile-long  bayou 
they  stretched  the  short  boom-chain,  thereby  making 
of  the  bayou  practically  a  mill-pond  within  which 
every  log  of  a  small  drive — a  drive  similar  to  Tag- 
gart's — might  ride  in  perfect  security.  This  task  was 
completed  after  the  coming  of  darkness,  and  when  the. 
last  spike  was  driven  Tom  Pine  threw  himself  on  the 
wet  ground  and  slept  like  the  dead. 

Gaston  did  not  sleep.  He  went  up  the  river  until, 
at  the  confluence  of  the  La  Croix  and  its  west  branch 
he  met  the  head  of  the  drive,  slowly  moving  from  the 
small  stream  out  into  the  grasp  of  the  larger  river's 


The  Trap  131 

current.  It  was  still  dark  when  he  returned  to  Big 
Bayou,  but  he  made  no  attempt  at  resting.  He  sat  with 
folded  arms,  staring  grimly  up  the  river,  waiting  for 
the  daylight  of  the  day  that  would  mark  the  beginning 
of  war  to  the  death  between  Devil  Dave  Taggart  and 
himself. 

As  the  first  traces  of  dawn  disturbed  the  darkness 
in  the  east,  he  built  a  fire  and  cooked  breakfast.  Then 
he  awoke  Tom  Pine  and  they  ate  in  silence.  It  was 
daylight  when  the  meal  was  completed.  As  one  they 
looked  toward  the  river.  Far  up  above  the  rapids  they 
could  see  a  few  black  specks  bobbing  on  the  rushing 
water,  the  first  stray  logs  announcing  the  coming  of 
the  drive.  Gaston  rose,  picked  up  one  of  the  rifles, 
loaded  it  and  filled  his  pockets  with  cartridges. 

"You're  not  to  do  any  shooting  except  to  save  your 
life,"  he  said.  "You  just  keep  the  new  channel  open. 
That's  your  job." 

"Sure,"  said  Tom  Pine.    "But— hello !    Hear  that." 

From  far  up  the  river  a  shout  came  echoing  faintly 
through  the  morning  stillness. 

"There  she  is,"  said  Gaston.  "I'll  catch  'em  at  the 
point  above.  So  long." 

"So  long,"  said  Tom  Pine,  and  looked  on  wistfully 
as  Gaston  jacked  a  cartridge  into  the  barrel  and  stalked 
up-stream  to  meet  the  drive. 


CHAPTER  XX 

HOW   TAGGART   LOST   THE   DRIVE 

HALF  a  mile  above  the  new  channel  which  had 
been  blown  into  Big  Bayou,  the  river  narrowed, 
running  swift  and  deep  between  high  banks.  At  one 
point  in  the  narrows  a  cliff-like  rock  jutted  out  over  the 
water,  commanding  the  river  above  for  a  mile,  or  to 
the  nearest  curve. 

Gaston  made  his  way  to  behind  this  rock  and  lay 
down.  The  rock  hid  him  like  a  natural  breastwork. 
As  yet  there  was  nothing  in  the  river  above  him  save 
a  few  scattered  stray  logs.  Gaston  lay  still  and 
watched. 

The  first  rays  of  the  rising  sun  struck  the  rock.  The 
grey  of  dawn  lifted  from  the  river,  the  rosy  sunshine 
gleamed  upon  the  rushing  waters,  and  around  the 
curve  above,  running  free  and  strong,  came  the  com- 
pact head  of  the  drive  from  the  lake. 

Gaston  Olaf  carefully  wiped  the  sights  of  his  rifle, 
thrust  it  forward  to  a  rest  on  the  rock,  with  the  muzzle 
pointing  up-stream,  and  waited.  The  drive  came  on 
steadily,  a  solid  brown  carpet  of  logs,  half  a  mile  long 
and  as  wide  as  the  river,  borne  on  the  crest  of  the  flood 
that  had  washed  it  out  of  the  lake,  down  the  west 
branch  and  into  the  swollen  La  Croix. 

Here  and  there  men  bobbed  up  and  down  on  its 
heaving  surface.  On  its  head  rode  two  men,  resting 
on  their  pike-poles,  and  on  each  bank  more  men  walked 
along,  ready  to  leap  in  and  work  if  the  logs  threat- 

132 


How  Taggart  Lost  the  Drive    133 

ened  to  jam.  There  was  no  need  for  their  services. 
The  drive  was  riding  steadily  on  high  water,  with  no 
obstacle  in  sight  to  hinder  its  slow,  steady  progress. 

At  four  hundred  yards  Gaston  recognised  the  first 
man  on  the  drive  as  the  camp  boss,  Murphy.  At  three 
hundred  yards  he  saw  that  the  other  drivers  were  all 
strangers  to  him.  Taggart,  to  hide  his  tracks  more 
thoroughly,  had  brought  in  a  strange  crew  of  river 
men  to  take  the  logs  down  the  river. 

Gaston  cocked  his  rifle  and  waited.  When  the  head 
of  the  drive  was  two  hundred  yards  away,  he  began 
firing  slowly,  methodically,  accurately,  sending  his  bul- 
lets so  close  to  the  feet  of  the  men  that  one  after  an- 
other they  leaped  in  fright. 

Five  shots  Gaston  fired  in  as  many  seconds,  and  the 
five  men  in  advance  stood  aghast  at  the  sudden  re- 
ports and  the  sinister  whew  of  lead  uncomfortably 
near.  Ere  they  had  located  the  shooter,  the  five  shots 
were  repeated.  .Chips,  water  and  mud  flew  in  the  air 
so  close  to  them  that  some  actually  were  spattered. 
The  first  volley  had  stricken  them  helpless  with  sur- 
prise; the  second  brought  them  back  to  their  senses 
and  told  them  what  to  do. 

They  were  river-men,  they  were  paid  to  take  chances 
with  logs  and  water,  not  with  bullets,  and  as  one  man 
they  dropped  peavies  and  cant-hooks  and  ran  for  cover. 
Murphy,  to  his  credit,  stopped  on  the  bank  and  peered 
toward  the  rock,  striving  to  locate  the  shooter.  A 
final  shot  dropped  at  his  heels  and  he  followed  the 
others  into  the  timber. 

Gaston  quickly  reloaded  his  rifle.  The  head  of  the 
drive  was  coming  on,  steadily,  safely,  nearing  the  trap 
he  had  set  for  it. 

"That's  just  the  first  tuning  up,"  he  mused.  "The 
real  dance  will  begin  a  little  later." 

He  was  right.    River-men  are  not  the  kind  to  submit 


134  Gaston  Olaf 

quietly  to  gun-fire  without  seeking  to  return  the  com- 
pliment, and  in  the  batteau  following  the  drive  were  a 
couple  of  rifles.  Presently,  from  five  or  six  hundred 
yards  up  the  river  came  the  crack  of  a  shot  and  a  bullet 
dropped  in  the  water  fifty  feet  away. 

"Pretty  bad,"  mused  Gaston.  "They'll  have  to  do 
better  than  that." 

A  second  shot  sounded  and  a  bullet  struck,  splatt! 
against  a  near-by  tree. 

"A  little  better,"  thought  Gaston,  and  crouched 
closer  on  the  stone. 

Half  a  dozen  shots  more  were  fired,  none  of  them 
coming  close  enough  to  warrant  a  return.  It  was  not 
a  part  of  Gaston' s  programme  to  hurt  anybody,  and  he 
merely  lay  low,  satisfied  with  the  fact  that  the  drive 
each  minute  was  nearing  the  bayou. 

The  head  of  the  drive  now  was  in  the  narrows  be- 
neath him,  and  the  swift  water  had  caught  the  logs 
and  was  whisking  them  on  to  where  Tom  Pine  was 
waiting.  So  long  as  that  went  on  undisturbed  the  men 
above  were  welcome  to  waste  as  many  cartridges  as 
they  pleased. 

It  did  not  last  long.  The  firing  stopped  abruptly 
and  Murphy  appeared,  peering  around  the  trunk  of  a 
tree  on  the  bank,  and  waving  a  bandanna  handker- 
chief as  a  flag  of  truce. 

"Hold  up  there!  What  are  you  trying  to  do?"  he 
demanded. 

Gaston  debated  not  for  a  moment  his  course  of 
action.  He  drove  a  bullet  through  the  tree  a  yard 
above  Murphy's  head  and  chuckled  at  the  fashion  in 
which  the  foreman  got  out  of  sight. 

There  was  a  lull.  Several  minutes  went  by,  and  with 
each  minute  the  drive  drew  nearer  to  the  Big  Bayou. 
Suddenly  the  shooting  resumed  from  up  the  river,  two 
rifles  throwing  lead  at  the  rock  as  rapidly  as  the  levers 


How  Taggart  Lost  the  Drive    135 

could  work.  At  the  same  time,  far  back  at  the  middle 
of  the  drive,  two  men  ran  out  bearing  a  steel  cable, 
followed  by  a  man  bearing  a  sledge. 

"Good  idea.  Trying  to  cable  half  of  her  up,"  mused 
Gaston. 

He  treated  the  riflemen  to  two  shots  apiece,  and, 
raising  his  sights,  shot  carefully  near  the  cable-men. 
At  the  third  shot  the  men  dropped  the  cable  and  ran 
for  cover. 

Gaston  smiled  grimly.  The  entire  drive  now  was 
within  sweep  of  his  rifle,  and  his  shooting  by  this 
time  had  warned  the  men  against  exposing  themselves 
in  any  effort  to  halt  the  logs. 

"They've  got  to  put  me  out  of  business  to  win,"  he 
muttered,  as  he  watched  the  logs  rushing  past.  "And 
if  they  don't  do  it  in  another  hour  they'll  lose." 

The  firing  from  up-stream  was  resumed  immediately 
after  the  cable-men  had  been  driven  to  cover.  The 
bullets  whined  overhead,  struck  dully  against  the  rock, 
or  chipped  slivers  from  the  logs  below.  The  shooting 
was  very  bad.  Evidently  the  shooters  were  thinking 
more  of  their  own  security  than  of  their  marksman- 
ship. When  it  showed  signs  of  improving,  Gaston 
methodically  pumped  shots  in  the  direction  of  the 
rifles.  The  rest  of  the  time  he  lay  tightly  behind  the 
rock,  content  so  long  as  each  minute  carried  thousands 
of  feet  of  Rose  Havens'  pines  down  toward  the  Big 
Bayou. 

Half  of  the  drive  had  passed  him  when  a  sudden 
rattle  of  shots  sounded  down  the  river. 

"They've  gone  around  me,"  muttered  Gaston. 
"They've  sneaked  through  the  timber — and  Tom  Pine 
is  sending  them  on  their  way.  It's  time  I  got  back  to 
Tom." 

Sending  two  final  shots  up  the  river,  he  crawled 
backward  from  the  rock,  keeping  his  retreat  hidden  un- 


136  Gaston  Olaf 

til  he  was  in  the  timber.  Then  he  ran,  as  he  never  ran 
before,  for  the  head  of  Big  Bayou. 

He  was  just  in  time.  The  trap  had  worked,  but 
it  had  worked  too  well.  The  drive  had  jammed  on 
the  chain-boom  in  the  rapids,  and  the  jam  had  spread 
until  the  channel  into  the  bayou  threatened  to  become 
choked  as  well. 

"Whitewater  men  to  the  front !"  bellowed  Tom  Pine 
from  behind  the  shelter  of  a  tree,  whence  he  was  con- 
ducting a  long-range  drill  with  a  hidden  adversary  in 
the  timber.  "She's  beginning  to  jam,  but  that  fellow 
out  in  the  bush  there'll  shoot  the  eyebrows  off  you  if 
you  try  to  break  her." 

Gaston  threw  down  his  rifle  and  grasped  a  peavey. 

"Don't  try  it,  Gaston  Olaf !"  cried  Tom.  "Let's  go 
hunt  that  fellow  out  first." 

"No  time."  Gaston  was  running  toward  the  logs. 
"She'll  break  through  the  boom  unless  she's  started 
into  the  bayou  in  a  hurry." 

A  bullet  greeted  him  as  he  leaped  out  on  the  jam. 
He  did  not  even  turn  his  head.  Over  the  heaving, 
rising  carpet  of  logs  in  the  new  channel  he  ran,  his  eyes 
bent  upon  but  one  thing,  to  find  the  key-log  and 
wrench  it  free  before  the  jam  should  become  too  solid 
to  move. 

The  logs  tossed  and  tumbled  crazily  in  the  rush  of 
high  water  in  the  bayou.  Now  Gaston  stood  securely 
on  a  log  butt,  now  the  butt  up-ended  and  he  was  in 
the  water. 

The  rifleman  in  the  woods  grew  very  busy  as  he  saw 
Gaston's  purpose.  Whack,  wheel  The  bullets  thudded 
against  the  logs  and  cut  the  air  around  him.  He  found 
the  key-log,  an  old  dead-head  with  one  butt  jammed 
into  the  bottom,  the  other  jutting  up  like  a  rock,  spear- 
ing the  drive  and  causing  the  jam  to  form  about  it. 

Whack,  wheel 


How  Taggart  Lost  the  Drive    137 

In  spite  of  Tom  Pine's  furious  fire  the  man  in  the 
woods  was  dropping  his  bullets  closer  and  closer  to  the 
frenzied  giant  toiling  among  the  boiling  logs. 

Ping! 

A  pitch-knot,  bullet-loosened,  flipped  up  and  cut  a 
crease  in  Gaston's  cheek,  and  blood  and  perspiration 
streamed  together.  He  did  not  trouble  to  wipe  it  away, 
nor  did  he  utter  any  exclamation.  All  his  strength 
and  breath  were  in  demand  as,  like  one  of  his  Norse 
ancestors  gone  berserk,  he  tossed  log  after  log  to  one 
side  as  he  dug  for  the  key-log. 

Plump! 

Water  splashed  in  his  eyes,  blinding  him  for  an  in- 
stant. The  gunman  had  the  range  now,  but  he  was 
a  little  off  on  his  line. 

Whack! 

A  bullet  thudded  into  the  key-log  the  instant  it  was 
bare.  Gaston  drove  the  spike  of  his  peavey  into  the 
log  and  heaved.  The  log  merely  turned  over,  held  se- 
curely by  the  mud  of  the  bottom. 

Gaston  looked  up.  Above  his  head  the  logs  were  ris- 
ing in  tangled  tiers.  In  a  few  minutes  more  the  jam 
in  the  channel  would  be  solid,  and  the  logs  in  the  river, 
deprived  of  the  line  of  least  resistance,  undoubtedly 
would  break  through  the  boom  and  go  on  down- 
stream. 

The  logs  in  the  channel  hung  on  the  key-log  as  on  a 
hair-trigger.  The  second  that  log  was  released  those 
tangled  tiers  would  spew  themselves  into  the  bay- 
ou explosively,  riding  down  everything  in  their 
way. 

Gaston  threw  away  his  peavey.  A  bullet  splashed 
the  water  at  his  feet.  Carelessly  he  kissed  his  hand  to 
the  hidden  rifleman,  to  the  logs  hanging  over  his 
head,  to  Tom  Pine,  to  the  bright,  sunny  world  which 
he  with  his  young,  full  life  joyed  in  so  tremendously. 


138  Gaston  Olaf 

He  drove  into  the  muddy  water  where  the  butt  of  the 
key-log  was  lodged.  Down  under  the  water  his  back 
went  under  the  log,  and  with  all  his  strength  he  heaved 
upward.  Tom  Pine  saw  his  face  for  one  clear  in- 
stant as  it  came  above  water,  the  muddy  butt  of  the 
key-log  clasped  in  his  arms.  The  rest  was  a  mighty 
roar  as  of  an  explosion,  a  fury  of  tumbling,  shooting 
logs,  of  whipped-up  water,  of  the  thunder  and  inde- 
scribable force  of  a  jam  suddenly  released  in  a  pres- 
sure of  high,  swift  water. 

Tom  Pine  dropped  his  rifle  and  ran  down  the  bank 
of  the  bayou,  keeping  pace  with  the  first  rushing  logs. 

"  'Tain't  human,"  he  groaned,  "  'tain't  human  for 
any  one  to  do  it  and  live,  but  I  never  see  him  killed 
yet." 

His  quick  old  eyes  found  the  key-log,  and  he 
groaned.  No  sign  of  Gaston  on  it.  Then  suddenly 
Tom  Pine  shouted  from  the  bottom  of  a  heart  filled 
with  gladness.  On  the  butt  of  the  log  as  it  went  down 
the  bayou  he  discerned  a  huge  brown  hand  maintain- 
ing a  precarious  but  firm  grasp. 

Immediately  a  second  hand  appeared.  Tom  Pine 
sat  down,  weak  with  joy  as  Gaston  drew  his  head  above 
water  and  gasped  for  air. 

"Is  she  running  in?"  were  Gaston's  first  words. 

"As  fast  as  water  will  carry  logs,"  cried  Tom. 
"Gaston — Gaston  Olaf,  you  had  me  awful  blue  there 
for  a  minute.  I  didn't  think  you'd  make  her — I  didn't, 
for  a  fact." 

So  did  Tom  Pine  attest  that  the  feat  had  been 
superhuman. 

Gaston  drew  himself  up  on  the  log  and  sat  straddle 
of  the  butt  while  he  filled  his  lungs  with  the  precious 
air.  He  looked  back  toward  the  channel.  The  logs 
were  moving  into  the  bayou  in  a  steady  stream,  the 
rushing  water  from  the  river  thrusting  them  in  as  in 


How  Taggart  Lost  the  Drive    139 

a  mill-race.  Gaston  grinned  as  he  pulled  himself  to  his 
feet  and  came  across  the  heaving  logs  to  where  Tom 
sat. 

"Good  enough  so  far,"  said  he.  "Now  get  the  guns 
and  we'll  go  hunt  that  fellow  who  pestered  us  from 
the  woods." 


CHAPTER  XXI 


THE  firing  from  the  woods  had  stopped.  Gaston 
and  Tom  swiftly  covered  the  ground  in  the  di- 
rection whence  the  shots  had  come,  without  drawing 
any  fire  or  discovering  any  trace  of  their  assailant. 

"That's  funny,"  said  Gaston.  "Back  to  the  river, 
Tom ;  they  may  be  blocking  the  drive." 

They  hurried  back,  but  there  was  no  one  in  sight 
about  the  river. 

"Lay  low,  Gaston  Olaf,"  warned  Tom;  "they're 
prob'ly  holding  back  for  a  sure  crack  at  us." 

For  a  while  they  lay  behind  cover,  waiting  and 
watching  for  the  men  of  the  drive  to  reveal  themselves. 
Five,  ten,  fifteen  minutes  went  by,  and  not  a  man  was 
seen  nor  a  shot  fired. 

The  logs  were  beginning  to  jam  again  in  the  en- 
trance to  the  bayou  and  Gaston  once  more  laid  down 
rifle  for  peavey  and  sprang  out  in  their  midst. 

"If  they're  still  laying  for  us,  we'll  soon  find  out," 
he  said  as  he  set  to  wrork. 

He  cleared  the  tangle,  set  the  logs  to  running  freely 
again  and  came  back  to  shore  without  drawing  a  single 
shot.  Tom  Pine  was  scratching  his  head  in  puzzled 
fashion. 

"I  can't  figger  it,  Gaston  Olaf,  I  can't  for  a  fact," 
he  muttered.  "Taggart  ain't  the  kind  of  timber  boss 
to  send  down  a  drive  of  fine  stuff  like  this  without 
having  anyhow  a  few  of  the  real  old,  pure-quill 
river-dogs  in  the  crew,  and  river-men  ain't  going  to 

140 


"You  Can't  Live  Here  After  This"  141 

let  nobody  take  a  drive  away  from  them  without  a 
fight. 

"The  way  they  started  in  swapping  lead  for  lead 
with  you,  proves  there  was  some  of  the  old  style  in 
this  crew.  Then  this  fellow,  who  was  put  off  here  in 
the  woods,  he  had  the  right  idea.  He  knew  what  he 
was  doing  when  he  tried  to  keep  you  from  breaking 
that  little  jam.  Why  do  they  give  it  up  sudden  now? 
There  ain't  over  half  of  their  logs  in  the  bayou  yet. 
Why  do  they  quit  like  this  ?  River-men  don't  usually 
drop  a  fight  till  the  last  dog's  hung." 

"I  don't  know.  I  suspect  Taggart's  hand  in  it,  be- 
cause the  men  wouldn't  stop  fighting  unless  they'd  got 
orders.  We  won't  bother  our  heads  about  that,  though. 
Those  logs  out  there  belong  to  Miss  Havens.  We're 
here  to  see  that  they  get  safe  and  snug  into  Big  Bayou, 
where  they'll  be  out  of  Taggart's  hands  till  the  news 
is  broken  that  he's  a  thief  and  caught  in  the  act." 

It  was  noon  now,  and  while  Tom  prepared  a  meal 
Gaston  kept  the  logs  flowing  steadily.  After  the  meal 
Tom  took  his  turn  with  the  peavey  while,  rifle  in  hand, 
Gaston  went  up  the  river  to  the  tail  of  the  drive.  He 
came  back  grinning. 

"Not  a  man  in  sight,  Tom,"  he  called.  "They've 
even  pulled  the  batteau  back  up-stream.  Taggart  has 
been  notified  and  has  called  them  off,  or  I'm  badly  mis- 
taken. The  old  hound  will  be  up  to  something  pretty 
soon.  Probably  send  a  gang  of  shooters  up  here  to 
run  us  off.  Well,  we'll  sit  tight  and  give  'em  back  as 
good  as  they  send." 

But  no  gang  of  shooters  came.  For  the  rest  of  the 
day  the  logs  came  floating  into  Big  Bayou  without  let 
or  hindrance,  and  Gaston  and  Tom  worked  them  down 
without  the  slightest  molestation.  Evening  came,  and 
the  bayou  was  covered  with  a  solid  carpet  of  logs. 

As  the  last  straggling  sticks  of   the   drive   swung 


142  Gaston  Olaf 

through  the  new  channel,  Gaston  exploded  a  charge  of 
dynamite  in  the  middle  of  the  jam  which  had  caught 
on  the  boom  across  the  river.  The  blast  blew  jam  and 
boom  to  pieces,  and  the  La  Croix  ceased  to  pour  its 
waters  into  the  bayou  and  went  rushing  bank-high 
down  its  old  channel.  The  waters  of  the  bayou 
promptly  sank  to  their  normal  placid  level,  and  two 
million  feet  of  Rose  Havens'  white  pine  rode  on  its 
bosom  as  snug  and  steady  as  if  in  the  mill-pond  await- 
ing a  buyer. 

When  the  last  log  was  in  the  bayou,  when  the  water 
was  normal,  when  the  boom  at  the  bayou's  mouth  had 
been  tested,  when  all  was  secure,  Tom  Pine  threw  his 
cap  on  the  ground,  leaped  three  feet  in  the  air  and 
whooped. 

"We  did  it!  By  the  great  pike  pole,  we  did  it! 
We've  snatched  a  man's  sized  drive  smack  out  of  old 
Dave  Taggart's  hands,  and  the  old  devil  will  be 
laughed  out  of  the  woods  for  the  trick  we've  put  on 
him.  Whoop!  Let  'er  roar,  Gaston  Olaf,  let  'er 
roar!" 

But  Gaston  Olaf  refused  to  let  'em  roar  at  all.  He 
shook  his  head,  grimly  viewing  the  work  of  his  head, 
heart  and  hands,  and  knowing  that  it  was  not  done. 

"That  would  be  right  about  any  other  man  in  the 
woods,"  he  admitted.  "For  any  other  timber  thief  to 
have  a  drive  stolen  away  from  him  like  this  would 
settle  him.  The  boys  would  laugh  at  him  till  he'd  have 
to  pack  up  his  traps  and  travel.  But  old  Taggart  isn't 
any  common  man.  He's  got  his  hand  laid  so  heavy 
on  this  country  that  they  won't  even  dare  laugh  at  him 
about  this.  And  we  haven't  put  the  trick  on  him  yet, 
Tom.  We'd  better  save  our  crow  for  a  while;  old 
Dave'll  try  to  make  us  eat  it  before  we're  through 
here." 

Tom  Pine  shook  his  head,  disappointed. 


"You  Can't  Live  Here  After  This"  143 

"Gaston  Olaf,  I  can't  figger  you  lately.  You're 
changing,  somehow.  By  the  great  pike-pole !  A  month 
ago  you'd  'a'  been  singing  over  a  job  like  this.  Now 
to  hear  you  talk  you'd  lost  confidence,  or  something. 
What's  happened  to  you,  boy?  Getting  old?" 

Gaston  busied  himself  preparing  supper  without  of- 
fering a  reply.  Tom  Pine  watched  him  closely  and 
sadly. 

"I  know  what's  the  matter  with  you,"  he  said  at  last. 
"You're  Norwegian  now  and  you're  thinking  of  set- 
tling down." 

"Perhaps  I  am.    What  of  it  ?" 

"What  of  it?  Why,  just  this:  you  ain't  made  for 
it,  that's  all.  You're  made  for  the  trail,  and  if  you 
settled  down  and  lived  in  a  house,  some  day  your  feet'd 
get  to  working  and  you'd  kick  open  the  door  and  just 
natur'lly  travel." 

"You  may  be  right,  Tom,"  muttered  Gaston  half 
aloud.  "If  you  are,  then  it  wouldn't  be  square  for  me 
to  try  to  settle  down.  Well,  drop  that.  You  roll  in 
and  get  your  sleep  right  after  supper.  I'll  stand  watch 
for  the  first  half  of  the  night.  We  can't  let  'em  catch 
us  napping." 

The  night  passed  without  incident.  Morning  came, 
a  bright,  lazy  Spring  morning,  and  still  no  sign  from 
Taggart.  Tom  and  Gaston  breakfasted,  made  a  circle 
in  the  woods  on  each  side  of  the  river  and  returned 
without  finding  trace  of  a  single  man. 

The  forenoon  passed  and  still  no  one  disturbed 
them.  It  was  well  past  the  middle  of  the  afternoon 
and  Tom  was  whittling  shavings  against  the  time  for 
cooking  supper,  when  a  stick  was  cracked  sharply  in 
the  woods  toward  the  road.  The  two  watchers  method- 
ically picked  up  their  rifles  and  methodically  threw 
themselves  behind  cover.  More  sticks  cracked  in  the 
woods.  Some  one  was  coming  boldly  toward  the 


144  Gaston  Olaf 

bayou,  by  the  noise  two  or  more  people,  and  they  were 
walking  without  any  attempt  to  hide  their  coming. 

"They've  got  their  nerve,  thinking  to  walk  up  on 
us  that  way,"  muttered  Tom,  and  as  he  spoke  Rose 
Havens,  Hale,  and  Taggart,  walking  together,  stepped 
from  the  shadows  of  the  timber  into  the  bright  sun- 
light and  stood  looking  down  at  the  log-covered  bayou. 

Gaston  laid  down  his  rifle  and  stood  up. 

"Hello,  folks!"  he  called,  stepping  toward  them. 
"Hello,  Taggart.  There  you  are — the  two  million  feet 
of  Miss  Havens'  timber  that  you  were  stealing.  And 
here  I  am — I'm  the  man  responsible  for  their  being 
here." 

From  his  position  on  a  rise  in  the  bank  Taggart 
looked  down  at  Gaston  with  an  expression  of  great 
sadness. 

"Thorson,"  he  said,  slowly  shaking  his  head,  "did 
you  know  all  the  time  that  we  were  cutting  logs  on 
Miss  Havens'  timberland?" 

Gaston  gasped.  If  ever  there  was  a  picture  of  eld- 
erly uprightness,  of  honesty  saddened  by  a  suspicion- 
able  error,  it  was  frock-coated,  bearded  David  Taggarf, 
as  he  stood  there  in  the  sunlight  with  the  dark  woods 
at  his  back. 

On  one  side  stood  Hale,  a  little  puzzled  perhaps,  but 
apparently  satisfied;  on  the  other  side  was  Rose,  and 
her  face  was  almost  jubilant.  Gaston  looked  from 
one  to  the  other,  and  before  his  amazement  would  per- 
mit him  to  speak,  Taggart  continued : 

"If  you  did — as  your  actions  lead  me  to  suppose — 
didn't  you  realise  what  a  terrible  injustice  you  were 
doing  me,  your  employer,  by  not  informing  me  of  the 
fact?" 

Almost  ministerial  was  Taggart  as  he  uttered  these 
words.  Unquestionably  he  had  convinced  Rose  and 
Hale  that  his  sorrow  was  genuine;  unquestionably  he 


"You  Can't  Live  Here  After  This"  145 

was  near  to  convincing  Gaston.  But  the  young  giant 
looked  up  at  the  clean  sky,  at  the  solemn  trees,  at  the 
clean  water,  and  his  woods-instinct  whispered  to  him 
to  be  on  guard,  that  something  was  wrong.  Neverthe- 
less he  said : 

"Taggart,  do  you  mean  to  say  you  didn't  know  that 
timber  was  Miss  Havens'?" 

Solemnly,  mournfully,  Taggart  shook  his  head. 

"Thorson,  when  I  first  laid  eyes  on  you,"  he  said 
quietly,  "I  analysed  you  like  this :  an  excellent  young 
man  of  great  possibilities,  but  too  prone  to  jump  at 
conclusions,  too  much  predisposed  to  violence."  He 
smiled  a  little,  sadly,  pityingly.  "I  am  afraid  we  must 
laugh  a  little  at  you,  Thorson.  You  have  performed  a 
valiant  deed — a  notable  deed — but  a  rather  ridiculous 
one,  considering  that  it  was  absolutely  unnecessary." 
He  seemed  to  struggle  to  control  his  smile.  "As  you 
know,  Thorson,  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  your  camp — 
never  visited  it." 

Gaston's  teeth  bit  back  an  exclamation  as  he  thought 
of  Taggart's  secret  morning  visit  to  Murphy. 

"I  pay  my  cruisers  good  money  to  locate  my  camps. 
The  man  who  located  this  one  is  no  longer  in  my  em- 
ploy. He  was  discharged  this  morning  when,  after 
the  report  that  you  had  stopped  this  drive,  I  investi- 
gated and  found  to  my  sorrow  that  we  had  been  cutting 
Miss  Havens'  timber.  I  am  not  so  young  as  I  was. 
Time  was,  when  I  would  have  fought  for  these  logs 
until  the  last  court  in  the  land  had  judged  against  me. 
But  I'm  getting  old.  I'm  not  as  ambitious  as  I  was. 
Consequently  Miss  Havens  and  Mr.  Hale  and  myself 
are  up  here  to  agree  on  a  fair  price  for  me  to  pay  for 
the  logs  I  have  unwittingly  thought  were  mine." 

Gaston  smiled  back  at  him  now. 

"That's  all  I  was  after,  old  timer,"  he  said  lightly. 
"If  Miss  Havens  gets  paid,  that's  all  I  did  this  for." 


146  Gaston  Olaf 

"And  I  thank  you  for  it,  Mr.  Thorson,"  said  Rose. 
"It  seems  you're  forever  putting  me  under  obligations 
which  I  see  no  way  of  repaying.  But  I  would  rather 
have  lost  every  penny  of  it  all  if  that  poor-  man 
dies." 

Gaston  looked  at  her  in  amazement,  and  saw  that 
she  was  struggling  between  gratitude  and  horror. 

"What  poor  man?"  he  asked  after  a  while. 

"Murphy,"  said  Taggart  with  a  click  of  his  jaws. 
"Oh,  yes ;  you  can't  do  things  like  this  without  paying 
for  them,  Thorson.  Poor  Murphy;  I'm  afraid  he  is 
done  for.  Shot  through  the  hips,  when  he  thought  he 
was  well  out  of  range,  too.  We've  hurried  him  down 
to  La  Croix,  but  there's  hardly  any  hope.  A  bad,  bad 
business.  And  so  absolutely  unnecessary,  too." 

Once  more  Gaston's  woods-sense  whispered  to  him 
to  be  on  guard,  that  something  was  wrong,  but  for  the 
life  of  him  he  could  not  sense  where  the  wrong 
might  be. 

"If  I've  hurt  a  man  as  bad  as  that,  I  suppose  the 
sheriff  will  be  up  from  La  Croix  to  get  me.  I'll  go 
down  to  the  settlement  to  save  him  coming  up  here." 

"We'll  see  you  through,  Thorson,"  shot  out  Hale. 
"It's  too  bad,  but  we'll  be  with  you." 

"Every  cent  I've  got  to  defend  you  if  necessary," 
said  Rose.  "But  I'm  so,  so  sorry  it  had  to  happen." 

Old  Taggart  scratched  his  chin. 

"Thorson,  I've  been  thinking  that  over  on  the  way 
out  here.  You  quit  me  cold;  you  suspected  me;  you 
took  my  drive  away  from  my  men,  but  just  the  same 
I'm  your  debtor  for  having  called  this  deplorable  error 
of  my  cruiser  to  my  attention.  You  did  it  criminally, 
but  let  that  go.  Through  you  I  find  it  out  in  time  to 
rectify  it  before  my  name  is  smirched  by  suspicion. 
For  that  I'll  give  you  a  little  advice — clear  out !  Quit 
the  La  Croix  country.  Start  upstream,  right  now,  and 


"You  Can't  Live  Here  After  This"  147 

keep  going  till  you've  put  this  country  behind  you  for- 
ever. I'll  see  that  you  get  away,  and  I'll  fix  it  with 
Murphy.  Take  this  as  the  solemn  truth  from  me.  It's 
your  only  chance,  for  you  can't  live  here  after  this." 

Gaston  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  the  old  wolf 
full  in  the  face. 

"  'Can't'  I  That's  a  strong  word,  Taggart.  Now  you 
take  this  from  me :  neither  you  nor  any  other  man  can 
tell  me  where  I  can  or  can  not  live." 

Taggart's  eyes  narrowed.  His  jaws  snapped.  His 
head  shot  forward. 

"That  settles  you,  Thorson,"  he  growled.  "You're 
done  for.  You  had  your  chance,  now  you  haven't  got 
any."  He  turned  abruptly  to  Hale  and  Rose.  "Now, 
let  us  get  to  business,  please,  and  agree  on  the  price." 

Gaston  turned  abruptly  away,  swinging  into  the  tim- 
ber at  a  pace  that  made  Tom  Pine  dog-trot  to  keep 
up.  Something  was  wrong;  something  sinister  was 
beneath  the  surface  of  all  this.  He  sensed  it  clearly, 
but  the  thing  was  too  deeply  hidden  for  him  to  see. 
Taggart  was  lying.  He  had  been  to  the  camp;  he 
knew  where  it  was.  Yet  he  was  preparing  to  pay  for 
the  logs,  apparently  in  good  faith.  Where  was  the 
'hitch? 

The  report  about  Murphy  also  puzzled  him.  He  and 
Tom  had  scoured  the  woods  up  the  river  and  had  found 
nothing  to  indicate  that  any  one  had  been  hurt.  They 
had  heard  no  cry.  If  Murphy  had  been  hurt,  his  com- 
panions naturally  would  have  swarmed  to  avenge  him 
rather  than  tamely  drop  the  fight.  On  the  other  hand, 
where  there  was  so  much  shooting  there  was  always 
the  possibility  of  a  stray  bullet  doing  sore  damage. 

"But  a  man  shot  through  the  hips  would  bleed,"  he 
said  suddenly  aloud.  "And  there  wasn't  a  drop  of 
blood  where  the  crew  had  been  tracking  around." 

"I  smelled  skunk,  too,"  said  Tom  Pine.  "She's  a 


148 


Gaston  Olaf 


queer  one,  but  somehow  I  can't  locate  the  animal.  For 
one  thing  it  looks  to  me  like  Taggart  was  running  a 
bluff  to  scare  you  out  of  the  country." 

"That's  the  straight  look  of  it,  all  right,"  agreed 
Gaston,  "but  Taggart's  tracks  run  too  crooked  to  make 
such  a  simple  trail.  He  wants  to  send  me  out  of  the 
country,  that's  sure;  but  there's  something  behind  all 
that.  We'll  go  down  and  see  Doc  Sanders  and  find 
out  how  much  Murphy  was  hurt.  Then  we'll  wait  for 
that  sheriff,  and  keep  our  eyes  peeled  for  signs." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

TWENTY-FIVE  THOUSAND — CASH 

HELLO,  pirates!" 
Dr.  Sanders,  hearkening  to  a  light  knock  on  his 
back  window,  opened  the  door  and  let  Gaston  and  Tom 
slip  into  his  private  sanctum.  It  was  well  after  dark. 
The  pair  had  taken  a  roundabout  way  through  the 
woods,  avoiding  the  road,  and  had  entered  the  settle- 
ment without  being  observed. 

Dr.  Sanders  slammed  the  door  shut  behind  them, 
pulled  down  the  curtain,  leaped  in  the  air,  and,  beating 
time  with  both  arms,  gave  three  cheers,  in  a  whisper. 

"You  did  it,  boys!  You've  done  a  doughty  deed. 
All  my  life  I've  been  hoping  somebody  would  do  some- 
thing like  it.  Didn't  seem  fair  that  all  the  doughty 
deeds  should  have  been  done  before  I  was  born.  Now 
I  die  happy.  Captain  Kidd  has  been  outdid,  almost 
before  my  eyes.  Stealing  a  log-drive,  lock,  stock,  and 
barrel,  from  Devil  Dave  Taggart!  Boys,  you  were 
born  after  your  time.  You  darned  old  pirates  and  buc- 
caneers, have  a  drink." 

"How  badly  was  Murphy  shot  up?"  asked  Gaston, 
when  the  ebullient  doctor  had  subsided. 

Dr.  Sanders  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"Let's  have  that  again,  please.    Somebody  shot  up?" 

"Murphy,"  said  Gaston.  "I  understand  he's  plugged 
through  the  hips  and  not  much  hope  for  him  ?  I  sup- 
pose they  brought  him  to  you  first?" 

The  doctor  shook  his  head. 

149 


150  Gaston  Olaf 

"This  is  the  first  I've  heard  of  that.  Nobody  has 
been  shot  up  in  this  neck  of  the  woods  since  Hale  got 
it  in  the  leg,  that  I  know  of.  Whence  this  news, 
Thorson?" 

Gaston  repeated  what  Taggart  had  said  concerning 
Murphy.  As  he  talked,  Dr.  Sanders's  shrewd  eyes 
narrowed  to  a  wink  and  he  rolled  his  tongue  in  one 
side  of  his  mouth. 

"I  don't  say  that  I  see  an  Ethiopian  in  the  wood- 
pile," said  he,  when  Gaston  had  done,  "but  I  do  insist 
I  catch  a  whiff  of  something  dark  complected.  Why, 
if  the  aforesaid  Murphy  was  sorely  wounded,  as  al- 
leged, was  he  not  taken  here  for  first  treatment,  at 
least  ?  Men  shot  through  the  hips  are  poor  risks  to  be 
toting  around  the  country  unnecessarily.  To  get  to 
La  Croix  the  alleged  wounded  gentleman  must  have 
been  taken  through  this  settlement  right  under  my 
nose.  Without  boasting  professionally  I  may  say  that 
my  reputation  for  treating  gunshot  wounds  and  so 
forth  is  not  of  the  poorest,  thanks  to  the  activities  of 
Taggart's  henchmen.  Boys,  if  there  isn't  something 
rotten  about  that  I'll — I'll  call  my  bull-dog  'Maude' 
for  the  rest  of  his  life." 

"Has  the  drive-crew  come  into  town  ?" 

"Every  mother's  son  of  'em.  Came  in  yesterday 
afternoon.  Been  trying  to  take  the  town  apart  ever 
since." 

"Was  Murphy  among  them?    Did  you  know  him?" 

The  doctor  thought  for  a  moment. 

"I  know  him  when  I  see  him.  Come  to  think  of  it, 
I  haven't  seen  him  with  the  gang." 

"Do  you  know  if  any  team  has  gone  to  La  Croix? 
They'd  have  to  take  him  down  with  a  team  if  he  was 
that  badly  hurt." 

The  doctor  shook  his  head. 

"I  had  a  call  down  the  river  this  morning.    Polack 


Twenty-Five  Thousand — Cash     151 

settler's  wife.  Confinement  case.  The  road  is  pure, 
undisturbed  mud;  there  hasn't  a  rig  gone  down  for 
forty-eight  hours." 

"Then  it's  pretty  safe  to  say  that  Taggart  lied  about 
that.  He's  got  something  up  his  sleeve.  Well,  we'll 
wait  and  see  what  it  is.  Now,  how  about  the  rest  of 
it?  Do  you  know  if  he's  settled  up?" 

The  doctor  nodded. 

"He  has.  In  me  you  behold  one  of  the  witnesses 
to  the  transaction,  which  has  just  been  completed. 
Taggart  paid  Miss  Havens  twenty-five  thousand  dol- 
lars for  her  logs,  just  as  they  lay  in  the  water — 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars !" 

Gaston  gave  a  long  sigh  of  relief. 

"Good  enough.  Then  the  girl's  got  her  money. 
That's  a  fair  price,  considering  that  Taggart's  men  did 
the  cutting.  Twenty-five  thousand " 

"Cash,"  said  the  doctor. 

"What?" 

"Cash-money.     Paid  in  hand,  hundred-dollar  bills." 

Gaston  sat  looking  at  the  doctor  in  stupid  silence. 
Somewhere  in  the  back  of  his  head  he  felt  the  same 
throb  which,  up  at  the  bayou,  had  told  him  there  was 
something  wrong  about  the  tale  of  Murphy's  wounding. 
Twenty-five  thousand  dollars — cash !  The  words  car- 
ried with  them  the  sense  of  something  sinister,  but 
what? 

"Twenty-five  thousand  dollars — cash,"  he  repeated 
blankly.  "Was  it  good  money?" 

"I  looked  at  it.  So  did  Postmaster  Perkins,  and 
Hale,  and  three  others  who  weren't  Taggart's  friends. 
Fact  is  he  insisted  on  calling  in  folks  who  are  Rose 
Havens's  friends  to  witness  the  deal.  It  looked  good 
to  us." 

Gaston  walked  the  floor  in  keen  discomfort. 

"That's  an  awful  lot  of  money  to  be  kept  in  a  town 


152  Gaston  Olaf 

like  this  with  that  gang  all  drunk."  Suddenly  he  shot 
out,  "What  did  she  do  with  it?" 

"Oh,  that's  all  right.  It's  safe  enough.  She  put 
it  in  Hale's  safe;  he's  express  agent,  too,  you  know. 
Oh,  yes,  the  money's  safe  and  sound  enough.  No 
trouble  about  that.  And  say,  Thorson " 

"Well?" 

"Somebody  was  asking  if  you'd  been  seen  around 
town." 

"Well,  I  hadn't  been." 

"So  I  told  her." 

"And  I  haven't  been  now." 

"Eh?" 

"You  haven't  seen  me.  I'm  not  in  town.  I  haven't 
been  here.  Understand?" 

"As  much  as  a  pig  does  of  flute-playing.  What's  the 
idea  now?" 

"Just  that — I'm  not  in  town.  Neither  is  Tom  Pine. 
Haven't  been  seen." 

The  doctor  stroked  his  beard. 

"But,  Thorson,  I  was  going  to  add  that  somebody 
explicitly  ordered  me  to  ask  you  to  call  in  case  I  did 
see  you.  How  about  that?" 

Gaston  was  tempted.  The  desire  to  see  Rose,  to 
hear  her  speak,  was  strong  upon  him.  But  he  put  the 
thoughts  of  her  from  him  sternly. 

"The  play  still  goes  as  I  first  made  it,"  he  said. 
"You  haven't  seen  Tom  or  me  at  all.  Now  let  us 
out  your  back  way  after  making  sure  that  nobody's 
looking.  I've  got  to  think,  and  this  room  suffocates 
me." 

He  led  the  way  from  the  doctor's,  away  from  the 
lights  of  the  settlement,  up  to  the  spot  on  the  hill 
from  which  he  and  Tom  had  slid  so  opportunely  on 
their  first  arrival  in  Havens  Falls.  The  slope  was 
bare  now,  and  half-way  up  Gaston  found  a  convenient 


Twenty-Five  Thousand — Cash     153 

windfall,  and  seated  himself  with  Tom  at  his  side. 
Down  below  them  the  lights  shone  from  the  houses 
of  the  settlement.  The  light  from  the  Havens's  win- 
dow was  almost  beneath  them;  but  Gaston  looked  be- 
yond it,  down  to  where  the  red  lights  twinkled  and 
the  drive-crew  roared  in  the  river  front. 

In  the  upper  part  of  town — the  town  proper,  where 
the  permanent,  respectable  citizens  of  Havens  Falls 
had  their  stores  and  homes — it  was  quiet  and  dark. 
Though  the  dark  Spring  evening  was  warm  enough  to 
justify  open-flung  windows  and  doors  after  the 
cooped-up  Winter,  the  houses  and  stores  there  were 
well  closed. 

In  the  houses  curtains  were  being  drawn.  The  stores 
were  locked  up  and  darkened.  There  was  no  activity. 
Folk  were  staying  close  to  their  firesides  in  that  part 
of  town;  and  one  had  only  to  look  and  listen  to  the 
noise  in  the  lower  end,  where  the  red  lights  winked,  to 
learn  the  reason  why. 

As  Dr.  Sanders  had  said,  the  gang  down  there  was 
bent  upon  taking  the  town  apart.  When  a  gang  of 
woodsmen  thus  descends  upon  a  settlement,  quiet,  re- 
spectable citizens  lock  up  their  places  of  business  and 
remain  behind  locked  doors,  that  peace  and  order,  and 
their  own  heads,  may  be  the  better  conserved. 

While  Havens  Falls  was  a  small,  new  settlement, 
its  river  front  was  startlingly  adequate  and  complete. 
Young,  brown-skinned  lumber-jacks,  ramping  with 
health  and  craving  excitement  after  months  of  mo- 
notony in  camp,  came  down  the  river  to  Taggart's 
office  and  drew  their  checks.  Often  that  check  repre- 
sented six  months'  toiling,  toying  with  danger,  even 
death ;  not  infrequently  a  red-cheeked,  lusty  girl  waited 
somewhere  for  the  young  woodsman  who  was  to 
marry  her  on  his  Winter's  stake.  But  one  drink 
wouldn't  hurt  a  man,  reasoned  young  Jack,  as  he  stood 


154  Gaston  Olaf 

outside  Taggart's  office  and  looked  over  the  river  front, 
which  was  so  situated  that  he  could  not  escape  seeing 
it  after  he  had  drawn  his  check.  No,  one  drink  with 
the  boys  wouldn't  hurt.  Of  course  he  had  promised 
the  girl  that  there  wouldn't  be  any  more  of  that  sort  of 
thing  now ;  but  a  man  must  be  a  pretty  poor  stick  if 
one  drink  would  hurt  him,  and  besides,  he  had  to  say 
good-bye  to  the  boys. 

So  he  would  have  one  drink  in  the  first  place  on 
the  front.  And  there  the  boys  were  cashing  their 
checks  and  buying  drinks,  and  young  Jack  had  to  be 
a  man  and  hold  his  own.  Good-bye,  check !  Good-bye, 
thoughts  of  a  red-cheeked  girl  that  held  a  man 
straight ! 

A  week  later,  perhaps,  some  bartender,  growing 
tired  of  seeing  Jack  hanging  around,  now  that  his 
money  was  gone,  threw  him  out  in  the  street.  And 
Jack,  now  bleary-eyed,  white  and  yellow,  shaky  and 
unshaven,  drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes  as  a  man 
awakening  from  a  bad  dream  to  a  worse  reality,  begged 
one  drink  to  steady  him,  and — went  back  to  the  woods. 

Yet  it  was  brave  and  gay  while  it  lasted,  especially 
on  a  warm,  still  evening  when  a  drive  was  down,  and 
a  score  or  more  broad-shouldered,  blue-shirted  river- 
men  took  possession  of  the  river-front.  In  most  towns 
the  townspeople  laid  low  till  the  spasm  was  over,  and 
the  river-men  went  on  their  way.  In  Havens  Falls, 
however,  the  worst  men  of  the  gang  were  permanent 
to  the  settlement,  and,  as  a  consequence,  what  hap- 
pened in  other  river  towns  once  a  year,  there  was  a 
permanent,  impossible  condition. 

"They're  doing  her  proud,"  ventured  Tom  Pine,  as 
he  and  Gaston  hearkened  to  the  turmoil  from  the  sa- 
loons. "Yes,  siree,  they  certainly  are  letting  her  roar 
for  fair." 

Gaston  nodded  grimly.    A  few  short  weeks  ago  he 


Twenty-Five  Thousand — Cash     155 

knew  quite  well  that  he  would  have  been  the  leader 
of  the  celebration  below.  Now  he  saw  the  thing 
in  a  new  light. 

He  measured  with  his  eyes  the  distance  from  the 
red  light  to  the  light  from  Rose  Havens' s  window, 
and  he  found  it  perilously  short.  He  pictured  the 
house  as  he  had  sat  at  table  with  Rose  and  her  mother, 
and  an  exclamation  of  anger  escaped  him.  That  was 
a  home.  That  was  the  kind  of  thing  that  counted,  the 
right  kind  of  thing,  for  which  men,  who  were  men, 
worked  and  saved,  and  even  died  to  maintain. 

His  dream  came  back  to  him,  the  dream  of  such  a 
home,  such  a  woman  for  his  own.  And  again  he 
tried  to  put  the  dream  away.  What  had  he — the  care- 
less, reckless  woods-vagabond — to  do  with  such  things  ? 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  MONEY  SAVED 

HELLO!"    Tom  Pine  sat  up  as  the  shouts  from 
below  came  nearer.     "I  believe  they're  coming 
up  to  this  end  of  town." 

It  was  true.  The  gang,  apparently  tiring  of  the 
saloons  for  a  spell,  had  wandered  into  the  decent  part 
of  town  singing,  shouting,  laughing  and  cursing.  At 
their  coming  more  curtains  were  drawn  down;  lights 
went  out  and  the  houses  became  dark  and  still. 

"That'll  put  the  scared  town  folk  under  the  beds  all 
right." 

Gaston  made  no  reply.  He  was  thinking  over  the 
words  he  had  heard  Taggart  speak  to  Murphy  on  that 
secret  morning  visit  to  the  camp :  "A  man  can't  blow  a 
safe  and  kill  a  marshal  without  paying  for  it,  Murphy. 
That  was  clumsy — that  killing — for  an  expert  safe- 
blower,  Murphy,"  and  suddenly  the  trail  began  to  grow 
clear,  ridiculously  clear.  Murphy,  safe-blower;  $25,- 
ooo  in  Hale's  safe. 

The  gang  below  swarmed  about  Olson's  hotel.  Mrs. 
Olson  promptly  locked  her  doors  and  pulled  down  the 
curtains.  The  gang  grew  in  numbers.  They  sur- 
rounded the  hotel.  On  the  surface  it  was  all  good- 
natured,  rough  woodsmen's  play,  but  to  Gaston  there 
was  something  too  systematic  in  the  way  the  men 
flocked  about  the  hotel. 

"Hale  lives  there,"  said  he  suddenly. 

"Sure,"  agreed  Tom.    "What  of  it?" 

"And  he's  probably  in  there  now." 

156 


The  Money  Saved  157 

"That's  a  cinch.    He'd  be  crazy  to  be  out  to-night." 

"That  gang  will  keep  him  in  there." 

"Sure.    He  isn't  a  fool;  he  won't  show  himself." 

"So  long,  Tom,"  said  Gaston,  rising  noiselessly. 

"Hah?" 

"So  long.  I've  got  something  to  attend  to.  You 
stay  here.  I  know  you've  got  a  right  to  be  in  any- 
thing I'm  in,  but  this  is  something  where  one  man  is 
as  good  as  two." 

He  disappeared  down-hill  in  the  darkness  before 
Tom  could  have  followed,  had  he  been  so  inclined, 
which  he  was  not.  He  knew  Gaston  too  well  to  fail 
to  recognise  a  command. 

Gaston  went  swiftly  and  unobserved  to  where  Tom 
and  he  had  cached  their  rifles  on  coming  into  town. 
He  would  have  much  preferred  to  have  a  shotgun  for 
night  work,  but  a  rifle  would  have  to  do. 

The  darkness  of  the  night  favoured  his  plans;  it 
permitted  him  to  hide  himself  close  to  the  window  in 
the  rear  of  Hale's  store,  so  close  that  when  Black 
Murphy  came  and  broke  in,  which  he  did  at  a  moment 
when  the  gang  about  the  hotel  and  in  the  street  set 
up  such  a  concerted  whooping  that  no  one  in  town 
could  hear  the  tinkling  of  broken  glass,  Gaston  recog- 
nised the  man  on  the  instant.  He  laughed  silently.  He 
had  guessed  right.  Taggart  had  lied  about  Murphy's 
being  wounded  to  establish  an  alibi  for  what  was  about 
to  happen. 

Gaston  half  rose  from  his  hiding-place  under  the 
impulse  to  capture  Murphy  and  clear  himself  of  the 
alleged  shooting.  He  caught  himself  as  a  better  idea 
unfolded  itself.  Murphy  was  small  game,  very  small 
game.  Gaston  sat  back  and  waited. 

Out  in  the  street  the  noise  became  a  tornado.  A 
score  of  men  had  joined  hands  and  were  dancing  in  a 
circle,  singing  at  the  top  of  their  deep  bull  voices.  It 


158  Gaston  Olaf 

was  a  regular  woodsmen's  celebration,  but  it  was  a 
trifle  too  consistent,  the  din  was  a  little  too  incessant, 
too  well  sustained.  It  served  its  purpose,  however, 
for  it  was  only  by  listening  intently  that  Gaston,  close 
though  he  was  to  the  window,  caught  the  sound  of  a 
muffled  explosion  within  Hale's  store. 

After  that  he  had  not  long  to  wait.  Murphy  came 
out  of  the  window,  a  small  sack  under  his  arm,  looked 
out  toward  the  noisy  street  to  see  if  he  was  observed, 
and  came  straight  toward  where  Gaston  lay  hidden. 

Gaston  held  his  breath.  Was  his  fine  plan  going 
awry?  If  Murphy  came  stumbling  on  to  him  a  sud- 
den blow  would  lay  him  out,  and  restore  the  contents 
of  the  sack  to  its  owner;  but  that  was  but  a  part  of 
Gaston's  scheme.  He  sat  as  immovable  as  the  stump 
behind  which  he  was  hiding,  as  Murphy  came  swiftly 
on.  Then  he  breathed  again.  Murphy  had  passed  on 
the  other  side  of  the  stump,  and  was  swinging  down 
toward  the  river. 

Gaston,  blessing  the  blackness  of  the  night,  rose  and 
followed.  He  was  glowing.  This  was  living !  Driv- 
ing Taggart's  men  to  cut  Rose's  pines,  and  then  snatch- 
ing the  drive  out  of  Taggart's  hands,  had  been  good. 
But  this  was  the  real  thing:  on  a  dark  trail,  and  no 
knowing  what  lay  at  the  end,  except  that  it  was  sure 
to  be  strife  and  excitement!  Gaston  felt  like  singing. 

He  blessed,  likewise,  the  stars  that  had  kept  Murphy 
from  becoming  a  true  woodsman.  Murphy  was  wear- 
ing leather  shoes.  Gaston,  in  his  soft  rubber-bottomed 
"high-tops,"  could  keep  within  hearing  of  Murphy's 
footsteps  without  revealing  the  fact  that  he  was  fol- 
lowing. He  dared  not  keep  close  enough  to  have  his 
quarry  in  sight;  he  trailed  by  the  sound  of  Murphy's 
steps,  and  he  followed  as  noiselessly  as  any  bobcat  of 
the  swamps. 

Murphy  made  a  wide  detour,  striking  for  the  river 


The  Money  Saved  159 

at  a  point  a  half-mile  below  the  settlement  Near  the 
river  his  way  led  to  a  copse  of  tag  alders,  so  tightly 
grown  together  that,  save  for  a  trail  which  had  been 
cut  through,  the  thicket  was  impassable. 

At  the  edge  of  the  tangle  Murphy  hesitated,  fumbled 
a  moment  on  the  trail,  then  stood  before  an  opening 
which  showed  where  the  tiny  path  ran  through  the 
alders.  Twenty  feet  behind  him  Gaston  crouched  low 
and  waited. 

Murphy  began  to  whistle  softly.  From  somewhere 
in  the  thicket  came  a  single  low  note  in  reply.  Murphy 
crashed  boldly  ahead  striking  into  the  path  with  no 
effort  at  concealment,  while  Gaston,  cocking  his  rifle 
in  the  crash  of  Murphy's  first  footfall,  followed 
swiftly. 

The  path  ended  suddenly  in  an  open  space  on  the 
bank  of  the  river.  Gaston,  crawling  on  hands  and 
knees,  was  only  ten  feet  behind  Murphy  as  the  latter 
stepped  out  in  the  clearing. 

Gaston  lay  tight  in  the  path  at  the  edge  of  the  brush. 
It  was  lighter  there  by  the  river.  He  saw  that  Murphy, 
with  the  sack  still  under  his  arm,  was  standing  on 
the  brink  of  the  river,  where  a  canoe  and  paddle  lay 
ready  for  use.  He  saw  Murphy  look  around,  heard 
him  whistle  again. 

Then  something  cried  out  within  Gaston  to  be  on 
guard.  He  dropped  flat  on  his  face.  A  revolver  spat 
a  streak  of  flame  where  his  head  had  been  an  instant 
before.  He  felt  a  burning  sting  through  his  left 
shoulder,  fired  at  the  flash,  heard  some  one  grunt,  then 
he  was  recklessly  up  and  in  the  open,  throwing  him- 
self on  Murphy  as  the  latter,  alarmed,  leaped  for  the 
canoe. 

Murphy  was  getting  away  with  the  money!  That 
was  the  idea  that  drove  Gaston  so  carelessly  from 
cover.  He  grasped  the  sack  with  one  hand,  striking  at 


160  Gaston  Olaf 

Murphy  with  the  rifle,  as  a  second  shot  flashed  from 
the  brush. 

The  world  reeled  and  leaped  drunkenly,  and  split  in 
a  hellish  splash  of  flame  and  blood.  He  was  down 
on  the  ground ;  Murphy  was  in  the  canoe,  racing  madly 
down  the  river.  But  Gaston  thrilled  and  exulted  in  the 
mad  tumult  of  the  moment  as  he  realised  that  the  lump 
he  was  lying  on  was  Murphy's  sack. 

Rolling  over  on  his  back,  he  pumped  shot  after  shot 
into  the  brush  as  rapidly  as  he  could  work  the  lever. 
No  shot  or  cry  came  back.  The  bullets  ripped  harm- 
lessly through  the  tag  alders. 

"That  Indian!"  thought  Gaston.  "No  white 

man  could  have  seen  enough  to  hit  me.  White  man, 
and  I'd  have  got  him." 

He  heaved  himself  up,  with  his  eyes  running  full  of 
blood,  and  fired  wildly  down  the  river  after  Murphy. 
The  bullet  struck  a  tree  on  the  other  side,  and  he 
realised  that  he  was  shooting  across  a  curve,  and  that 
Murphy  had  disappeared  around  the  bend. 

It  had  all  happened  within  a  few  seconds,  and  now 
there  was  the  sudden  quiet  that  is  the  aftermath  of  an 
explosion.  The  river  brawled  steadily  as  it  swept 
around  the  curve;  save  for  that  the  night  was  quiet, 
empty. 

Gaston's  hand  went  to  his  forehead,  then  to  the 
smear  that  was  running  down  from  his  left  armpit. 

"He  got  me,  the  dirty  Pigeon-Toe,"  he  muttered. 
"Got  me  twice,  and  good — but  I  got  the  money." 

He  staggered  a  little  as  he  rose,  for  the  blood  from 
both  wounds  was  running  strong  and  free.  The  sensi- 
ble thing  to  do,  he  knew,  was  to  bandage  the  wounds 
at  once  to  stop  the  bleeding.  But  there  was  the  chance 
that  the  Indian  would  come  back  with  help;  even  the 
men  in  town  might  hear  the  shooting  and  come  down. 

Gaston  went  into  the  river.    The  water  was  mouth 


The  Money  Saved  161 

high  on  him,  but  with  rifle  and  sack  held  above  his 
head  he  waded  upstream  to  open  timber,  then  scram- 
bled out  and  made  his  way  back  to  town.  The  gang 
was  back  among  the  red  lights  now.  Olson's  hotel  was 
deserted.  Gaston  staggered  to  the  door  and  kicked  it 
open. 

"Hale!"  he  gasped,  to  the  startled  Hulda.  "Take 
me  to  him." 

He  staggered  into  the  room  where  Hale  was  sitting 
and  dropped  the  sack  on  the  floor  before  him. 

"Money — Rose's,"  he  muttered.  "Safe  blown — 
Murphy  did  it.  I  saw  him.  Took  it  away  from  him. 
He's  down  river — canoe.  Ugh !" 

The  windows  of  the  room  shook  as  he  swayed  like 
a  sawed  pine  and  went  down,  the  two  hundred  and 
twenty  pounds  of  him,  with  a  thump  on  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A    FRESH    START 

G  ASTON  heard  some  one  speaking  when  he  re- 
turned to  consciousness.     He    recognised    Dr. 
Sanders's  voice. 

"In  danger  ?  Seriously  wounded  ?  My  dear  young- 
lady,  men  builded  and  grown  on  the  plan  of  our  friend, 
Thorson,  require  much  more  than  he  got  to-night  be- 
fore their  earthly  existence  is  even  threatened.  He's 
a  little  weak  at  present,  and  he'll  have  a  sore  shoulder 
for  a  few  days,  and  his  open,  boyish  forehead  will 
always  be  marred  by  a  scar,  but  outside  of  that  he's 
perfectly  ready  to  resume  his  exciting  career.  Hello, 
Thorson — have  a  nice  snooze?" 

"Money — money  all  right?"  Gaston  muttered 
sleepily,  without  opening  his  eyes,  the  one  thought  in 
his  mind. 

"Yes,  yes!" 

He  looked  up  sharply  at  the  new  voice.  The  doctor 
was  slipping  out  of  the  door  and  Rose  was  standing 
by  his  side. 

"Why — why  did  you  do  it  ?"  she  asked  tremulously. 

Gaston  closed  his  eyes.  The  vision  was  too  disturb- 
ing for  a  man  who  had  had  his  skull  raked  by  a  bullet. 

"Risk  your  life  so  recklessly  for  my  money?" 

There  was  so  much  alarm,  so  much  sternness,  and 
withal  so  much  implied  reproof  in  her  tone  that  Gaston 
opened  his  eyes  and  grinned  boyishly. 

"Ain't  mad,  are  you?" 

She  had  to  laugh  with  him,  though  tears  and  reprov- 
ing words  were  not  far  away. 

162 


A  Fresh  Start  163 

"How  can  you  joke  about  it?"  she  protested.  "You 
might  have  been  killed." 

"Might,"  he  agreed.  "It  was  a  gamble ;  that's  why  it 
was  fun  to  do  it." 

"Oh !  Please  don't  make  so  light  of  it.  It  horrifies 
me.  Do  you  think  I  would  have  had  you  do  it — risk 
your  life — if  I  had  known?  Not  if  everything  we  had 
was  lost.  Don't  think  I'm  ungrateful ;  I  can't  imagine 
how  I  can  repay  you " 

"Hold  on  there."  Gaston  half  rose  in  the  bed.  "You 
don't  think  I  did  it  expecting  any  pay?" 

"No.  But  I  don't  see  why  you  should  do  such 
things  for  me — almost  a  stranger  to  you.  Why, 
you " 

"I  did  it.  Somebody  had  to  do  it ;  it  was  something 
that  had  to  be  done.  I  happened  to  do  it.  Let  it  go 
at  that.  Now,  there's  the  way  you  can  pay  me — if 
you  insist  on  paying  me:  just  let  it  go  at  that.  It's 
done;  it's  past.  Say  no  more  about  it." 

"But  how  can  I " 

"I  mean  that,"  he  said  doggedly.  "I  don't  like  to 
hear  anything  about  it.  I  don't  want  to  be  rude,  but 
say,  Miss  Havens,  will  you  do  me  a  favour?" 

"You  know  I  will." 

"Well,  will  you  forget  everything  that  has  happened 
up  to  now?  Let  it  slide.  And — can  we  begin  fresh, 
from  now  on,  to — to  get  to  know  each  other?" 

He  was  sitting  up,  leaning  toward  her  eagerly,  the 
impetuous,  winning  power  of  youth  in  his  blue  eyes 
and  boyish  smile ;  and  as  she  looked  at  him  she  trembled 
a  little,  with  a  feeling  that  when  he  looked  at  her  like 
that,  in  spite  of  his  bandages,  she  would  want  to  do 
whatever  he  wished  her  to  do. 

"Begin  all  over,  fresh ;  you  know  what  I  mean,  Miss 
Havens?  Will  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  whispered. 


164  Gaston  Olaf 

For  a  moment  it  was  still  in  the  room.  Gaston  was 
fumbling  for  words  to  utter  what  was  in  his  mind. 
Rose  nervously  turned  to  go. 

"Mother  is  waiting.  I  think  I — will  bid  you  good 
night/' 

"I  want  you  to  get  to  know  me  differently — and  for- 
get the  wild,  tough  kid  that  I've  been,"  said  Gaston,  as 
the  words  came  suddenly. 

She  smiled  gladly.    She  was  very  young. 

"I  shall  be  glad  to — very  glad — good-night." 

"Good-night." 

Gaston  lay  back  with  a  serious,  questioning  look  on 
his  face. 

"I  wonder,"  he  mused,  "I  wonder  if  I've  got  the 
right?" 

When  Dr.  Sanders  entered  the  room,  soon  after 
Rose  had  left,  he  found  his  patient  sitting  up  on  the 
edge  of  the  bed,  staring  out  of  the  window  into  the 
black  night. 

"Back  to  the  hay,  boy,"  commanded  the  doctor. 
"You're  a  bear  and  a  bull  for  strength,  all  right,  but 
that  hole  through  the  shoulder's  from  a  .44,  and  there's 
torn  tissue  there  that  needs  perfect  quiet  or  there'll 
be  more  bleeding.  You  only  lost  about  a  gallon  of 
blood  as  it  was.  Lie  down,  I  say.  I'm  in  no  mood 
to  trifle  with.  Hulda's  made  me  go  on  the  wagon. 

!  Did  you  ever  notice  what  influence  women 

have  over  men  in  the  Spring?  So,  there  you  are. 
Huh !  Pulse  way  up  again.  You've  got  to  keep  quiet 
I  tell  you." 

"What  did  Hale  do  with  the  money  this  time,  Doc  ?" 

"Hale  is  at  this  moment  speeding  behind  his  drivers, 
well  on  his  way  to  La  Croix.  Tom  Pine,  armed  to  the 
teeth,  sits  in  the  seat  beside  him.  The  bag,  containing 
Rose  Havens's  twenty-five  thousand,  and  incidentally 
some  of  Hale's  money,  is  safe  between  them.  And 


A  Fresh  Start  165 

Hale  is  driving  so  hard  that  there'll  be  no  chance  any- 
body overtaking  him  before  he  has  that  money  safe 
in  the  bank  at  La  Croix.  He  decided  to  take  no  more 
chances  keeping  that  much  money  in  this  tough  town." 

"Good.    Now,  if  he  could  only  nail  Murphy " 

"Not  much  chance.  I've  been  hearing  some  talk 
about  Murphy.  He'll  never  go  to  La  Croix.  He's 
wanted  down  there.  He'll  probably  leave  the  river  and 
strike  into  the  woods." 

"That's  so."  Gaston  scowled.  "Then  Taggart's 
still  safe.  Well,  we  made  him  pay  for  the  logs,  any- 
how." 

"Yep.  And  I  suspect  he'll  be  making  somebody  else 
pay  for  making  him  pay." 

"Oh,  sure."  Gaston  laughed  cheerfully.  "He'll  be 
on  the  war-path  for  my  scalp  from  now  on.  He  told 
me  my  only  chance  was  to  get  out  of  the  country." 

"And  you  decided  ?" 

"Oh,  I'm  beginning  to  like  this  place.  It's  nice 
country  around  here,  and  the  people  are  friendly.  Yes, 
if  there  was  anything  wanting  to  make  me  like  it  it 
was  to  have  old  Taggart  or  any  one  else  tell  me  I 
couldn't  stay." 

The  doctor  stroked  his  beard  dubiously. 

"Devil  Dave  won't  balk  at  murder,  you  know." 

"That's  understood." 

"And  he  can  command  any  one  of  a  dozen  bad 
men  who'd  pick  you  off  as  quick  as  they  would  a 
deer." 

"Sure." 

"Taggart'll  go  war-mad  now.  He'll  make  this  place 
harder  and  rougher  than  it's  been." 

"Now,  there,"  said  Gaston,  smiling,  "there  you  say 
something  important,  Doc!  Can  he  keep  that  up? 
Can  he  keep  on  running  this  country  the  way  he  has? 
Taggart  and  his  gang  are  hard  and  tough.  They've 


166  Gaston  Olaf 

been  too  tough  for  you  fellows  so  far.  If  they  make 
the  town  any  rougher  it'll  be  too  rough  for  decent  peo- 
ple to  live  in.  'Twouldn't  be  right  to  go  away  and 
leave  a  fine  piece  of  country  like  this  in  the  hands  of 
folks  like  Taggart  and  his  tribe.  Might  as  well  have 
let  the  Indians  have  it.  It's  too  good  for  that;  it's 
too  good  for  anybody  but  decent  white  folks,  who  want 
to  settle  down  and — make  homes. 

"And  I've  been  thinking  that  it's  time  I  got  me  a 
home  some  place,  though  I  don't  know  if  I  can  stick 
in  one  spot.  But  I  want  to  try.  And  I  like  this  place  ; 
it's  the  first  place  I  ever  camped  in  that  I  felt  like  stay- 
ing with,  and  I've  got  a  hunch  I'm  going  to  stay. 

"Of  course  I  wouldn't  care  to  stay  if  old  Taggart 
continued  to  run  things  so  the  decent  people  would 
have  to  leave.  But  Taggart's  been  driving  here, 
smooth  and  cocky,  for  about  long  enough,  it  seems  to 
me.  He's  been  sitting  back  in  the  wannigan  like  a 
king,  while  his  hired  men  ran  his  drive  over  this  place, 
knocking  heads  under  water  if  they  got  in  the  way, 
and  never  hitting  sandbars  or  white-water.  About  long 
enough.  It's  time  this  fine  piece  of  country  was  set- 
tling up,  and  decent  people  getting  the  use  of  it.  It's 
time  for  a  jam. 

"Yes,  sir,  Doc,  I've  got  a  feeling  that  there's  going 
to  be  a  hard,  tight  jam  about  here,  with  maybe  a  few 
fellows  getting  hurt  before  she's  broken,  and  when 
she  breaks  out,  old  man  Taggart  and  his  outfit,  or  our- 
selves will  be  sluiced  down-stream  and  out  of  this  coun- 
try for  good." 

Dr.  Sanders  knit  his  brows. 

"Hm,  hm.  I  see  what  you  mean.  Hm,  hm.  But 
you  see,  Thorson,  you'll  be  the  victim  Taggart  will  be 
laying  to  put  away  first  of  all.  You've  dared  him, 
and  you've  beaten  him.  He  won't  waste  any  time  get- 
ting you — Taggart  and  his  gang.  Hm,  hm.  You'll 


A  Fresh  Start  167 

have  to  do  some  skilful  side-stepping  to  keep  your- 
self— hm,  hm — above  the  young  green  grass." 

"You  can't  side-step  when  you're  fighting  a  gang, 
Doc.  They'll  be  on  all  sides  of  you." 

"Hm,  hm.     That's  what  I  say.     It'll  be  hard- 

"So  there'd  be  no  use  trying  to  buck  Taggart  by  side- 
stepping." 

"No?" 

"No.  His  gang's  too  big.  But,  Doc,  did  you  ever 
stop  to  think  that  there  wouldn't  be  any  gang  without 
Taggart?" 

"Eh?" 

"Taggart's  the  whole  thing.  The  gang  wouldn't 
be  his  slaves  and  so  ready  to  do  his  dirty  work  if  they 
weren't  sneaks  and  bums.  He  picks  them  that  way. 
He  holds  something  over  all  of  them.  They're  noth- 
ing without  him;  they'd  be  afraid  to  try  to  rough- 
house  a  Sunday-school  without  Taggart  to  send 
'em  on." 

"Yes,  Taggart's  the  driving  power,  of  course. 
Well " 

"Well,  when  the  jam  comes,  which  will  be  pretty 
soon,  I've  got  to  take  a  running- jump  at  them  before 
they  get  the  jump  on  me." 

"How?" 

"Get  Taggart,"  murmured  Gaston,  settling  down 
to  sleep.  "He's  the  key-log.  Get  him,  and  we'll  have 
the  jam  broken,  and  everything  here  all  our  own  way." 

But  it  was  not  of  Taggart  nor  of  ways  and  means 
to  combat  him  that  he  dreamed  that  night ;  it  was  a  girl 
who  smiled,  and  a  home.  He  did  not  sleep  well.  He 
could  not  quite  see  himself  in  the  dream. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

GASTON'S  DREAM 

HALE  and  Tom  Pine  came  back  from  La  Croix  at 
noon  next  day,  horses  and  buggy  covered  with 
mud  to  testify  to  the  speed  of  their  drive  through  the 
night. 

"I  wouldn't  have  gone  with  him  without  waiting 
to  see  you  come  to,"  explained  Tom,  "but  Doc  swore 
you  was  still  as  good  as  new,  and  I  figgered  what  you 
was  after  was  to  see  that  girl's  stake  cached  safe  and 
sound.  We  figgered  we  might  catch  up  with  that  Mur- 
phy fellow  and  have  a  few  words  with  him  for  blow- 
ing holes  in  you,  but  we  found  where  he'd  left  his 
canoe  in  a  bend  about  three  miles  below.  Left  it  where 
the  river  curves  into  plain  sight  of  the  road.  He  was 
scairt,  all  right.  We  couldn't  stop  to  trail  him,  with  all 
that  money  in  the  buggy.  What  I  don't  see  is  how 
you  got  the  coin  after  he'd  shot  you,  'less  you  got  him, 
too." 

"Murphy  didn't  shoot  me,"  explained  Gaston.  "It 
was  that  Indian  of  Taggart's.  I  could  tell  by  the  way 
he  grunted  when  I  winged  him.  Yes,  I  touched  him 
up  a  little,  shooting  wild  in  the  brush.  Murphy  let 
go  of  the  dough  in  a  hurry  and  jumped  for  his  canoe." 

Tom  Pine  growled  reprovingly. 

"You  ought  to  be  kicked,  Gaston  Olaf;  yes,  siree, 
you  ought  to  be  kicked.  Why'n  Sam  Hill  did  you  try 
for  to  do  it  alone?  If  you'd  took  me  along  you'd  have 
gobbled  Murphy  while  I  was  gobbling  the  Indian." 

168 


Gaston's  Dream  169 

"I  wasn't  after  Murphy  or  the  Indian.  I  was  after 
old  Taggart  himself.  That's  why  I  ought  to  be  kicked ; 
I  should  have  known  better  than  suppose  that  the  old 
man  would  be  careless  enough  to  come  after  the  coin 
himself." 

Tom's  eyes  and  mouth  opened  full  width. 

"D'you  mean  to  say,  Gaston  Olaf — d'you  mean  to 
say  old  Taggart  had  a  finger  in  that  safe-blowing?" 

"Sure.  He  was  the  whole  thing.  He  made  Murphy 
do  the  job.  I  had  a  hunch  that  something  was  wrong 
up  there  at  the  bayou  when  Taggart  was  so  free  and 
easy  about  paying  for  the  logs.  When  we  came  to 
town  last  night  and  Doc  Sanders  hadn't  heard  any- 
thing about  Murphy  being  hurt,  I  began  to  know  Tag- 
gart was  cooking  up  some  medicine.  I  remembered 
that  Murphy  was  a  safe-blower,  and  when  Doc  told 
about  the  money  being  put  in  Hale's  safe  I  was  on  a 
warm  trail. 

"I  went  down  to  watch  Hale's  store  alone  because  I 
thought  Murphy  would  come  and  blow  the  safe  and 
take  the  stake  to  the  old  man.  I  wanted  to  nail  old 
Taggart  with  the  stuff  on  him.  You  can  buy  a  new 
pair  of  shoes  and  kick  me  any  time  you  want  to,  Tom. 
A  kid  might  have  known  it  wasn't  the  old  man's 
style  to  deal  first-hand  with  one  of  his  crooks." 

Tom  Pine  sat  silent  for  a  long  time. 

"That  was  good  trailing,  Gaston  Olaf." 

"But  my  game  got  away." 

"Yep."  Tom  was  silent  a  moment.  "Yep,  he  got 
away.  And  he's  a  hard  one,  with  long,  sharp  claws. 
What  you  going  to  do  now,  Gaston  Olaf?" 

"Sit  around  for  a  few  days  until  my  shoulder  heals 
up.  Doctor's  orders." 

"Yep.    I  mean,  after  that  ?" 

Gaston  looked  out  of  the  opened  window.  A  breeze 
from  the  south  was  blowing,  and  the  air  was  soft, 


I  yo  Gaston  Olaf 

piny,  redolent  with  the  scent  of  an  awakening  North- 
ern Spring. 

Outside,  the  miracle  of  the  last  few  days  was  de- 
veloping. A  landscape,  which  a  week  before  had  been 
a  picture  of  snow,  ice  and  Winter,  now  proclaimed 
that  the  growing  season  had  begun.  From  where  they 
sat  they  could  see  the  mighty  river  racing  down  from 
the  north,  bank-full,  swinging  around  the  bend  on 
which  the  town  was  located  with  low-murmured  warn- 
ing of  the  immense  power  of  its  brown  waters. 

Far  away  the  pines  showed  blue  in  the  hazy  air. 
Along  the  river  the  buds  on  the  willows  and  alders  had 
begun  to  swell;  the  tamaracks  in  the  swamp,  a  week 
before  brown  and  dry,  were  tinted  a  faint  gold;  a 
robin  was  chirping  cheerfully  near  by,  and  in  a  clear- 
ing a  settler  with  a  pick  was  assuring  himself  that  the 
frost  had  gone  out  of  the  ground. 

"Tom,  it  looks  pretty  good,  doesn't  it?" 

Torn  nodded. 

"She  does,  Gaston  Olaf,  she  does  for  a  fact." 

There  was  another  space  of  silence. 

"I  suppose  you're  hankering  to  be  travelling,  Tom?" 

"You  ain't  heard  me  say  anything  lately,  have  you  ?" 

"But  you  are?" 

Tom  Pine  looked  wistfully  off  to  where  the  blue 
pines  marked  the  horizon. 

"I  tell  you  how  it  is,  Gaston  Olaf :  you  and  me,  we're 
partners,  and  where  you  stick  I  stick.  I  ain't  blind, 
boy ;  I  can  see  what's  happening.  You're  going  to  set- 
tle down.  All  right.  I  settle  down  too.  If  you  can 
do  it,  I  can.  We'll  see.  You  can't  make  a  canary  bird 
or  a  barnyard  fowl  out  of  an  eagle.  That's  against 
nature.  But — we'll  see.  What  I  mean  is,  what  you 
going  to  do  about  old  Taggart  ?  He'll  be  cooking  bad 
medicine  for  us,  Gaston  Olaf.  Have  you  got  a  scheme 
to  handle  the  old  devil?" 


Gaston's  Dream  171 

Gaston  shook  his  head.  His  thoughts  had  been 
busy  with  other  schemes,  other  hopes.  How  could  a 
man  be  expected  to  scheme  for  battle  when  he  had 
just  begun  to  dream  of  a  gentler,  a  sweeter  form  of 
life  than  he  had  ever  imagined  ?  Yet  the  scheming  was 
necessary.  The  battle  must  be  fought  and  won  before 
the  dream  might  be  realised.  Very  well.  He  woulcl 
put  the  dreaming  aside  for  the  time  being.  He  was 
a  little  too  much  inclined  to  dream  anyway.  The  road 
before  him  was  hard  and  stern.  It  would  not  be 
enough  that  he  might  win  over  Taggart.  He  must 
make  something  of  himself,  have  something  of  his  own 
before  he  would  have  a  right.  .  .  . 

"No,  I  haven't,  Tom.  We've  got  to  handle  him  be- 
fore he  handles  us,  though.  I've  got  a  few  days  here 
in  this  room,  and  I  can't  think  much  in  here — too  much 
like  being  in  jail.  You  just  lay  low  for  a  day  or  two, 
Tom.  Then  we'll  go  out  in  the  timber  some  place  and 
cook  up  a  scheme." 

"That's  good  talk,"  agreed  Tom.  "A  man  can't  see 
clear  when  he's  got  a  roof  between  him  and  the  sky. 
Well,  I  promised  Hale  I'd  rub  some  liniment  on  his 
mare's  knees.  We  hit  a  windfall  in  the  dark  last 
night." 

"What's  Hale  doing  now?" 

"Oh,  he  piked  straight  up  to  the  girl's  to  put  the  re- 
ceipt for  the  money  safe  in  her  hands." 

When  Tom  had  gone,  Gaston  leaned  far  out  of  his 
window.  From  there  he  could  see  the  Havens's  front 
yard,  and  Rose  and  Hale  were  walking  toward  the 
gate.  At  the  gate  Rose  stopped,  shading  her  eyes  with 
her  hand.  Hale  paused,  and  for  a  while  they  stood 
talking,  while  a  pang  shot  through  Gaston's  heart. 

Hale  fitted  into  the  picture.  The  steadiness,  the 
stanchness,  the  quiet  determination  of  the  man  were 
obvious  in  his  bearing,  in  the  serious  poise  of  his  head 


172  Gaston  Olaf 

as  he  listened  to  Rose's  words.  And  her  confidence 
and  trust  in  him  were  bespoken  in  the  way  in  which  she 
looked  at  him  when  she  spoke. 

Gaston  drew  back  from  the  window,  as  if  discover- 
ing himself  in  a  shameful  action. 

"Hale's  all  right ;  he's  got  a  right,"  he  mused.  "But 
if  I  can  make  good  I'll  have  a  right  too,  and  then " 

The  chain  of  his  thoughts  shifted  abruptly.  He  sat 
in  a  heavy  mood. 

"I  guess — I  guess  she'd  be  happy  enough  with  Hale, 
all  right.  Well,  I  won't  make  her  unhappy,  no  matter 
what  happens  to  me." 

Rose  came  with  her  mother  to  call  on  him  that  after- 
noon, and  Gaston,  while  deprecating  cheerfully  Mrs. 
Havens's  motherly  solicitude  over  his  hurts,  watched 
closely  to  catch  on  Rose's  face  the  look  of  confidence 
she  had  bestowed  upon  Hale.  It  was  not  there.  But 
something  else  was  there,  something  that  compensated 
Gaston  for  the  absence  of  the  other. 

Her  eyes  lighted  up  at  the  sight  of  him  as  they 
failed  to  do  at  the  sight  of  Hale.  When  she  looked 
at  him  there  was  a  look  on  her  face  which  others 
never  saw.  The  look  thrilled  him  and  made  him  eager 
to  be  out  and  doing. 

That  evening  when  he  looked  out  of  his  window  and 
saw  her  raking  the  leaves  from  around  the  lilac  bushes 
in  her  yard,  he  threw  the  doctor's  injunctions  to  the 
wind.  There  was  a  small  shed  directly  under  his  win- 
dow, and  from  the  shed  it  was  an  easy  drop  to  the 
ground.  So  silently  and  swiftly  did  he  move  that  he 
was  vaulting  over  the  fence,  coming  to  her  side,  before 
she  looked  up  and  saw  him. 

"Mr.  Thorson!"  she  gasped.  Then,  remonstrat- 
ingly:  "But  Dr.  Sanders  insisted  that  you  be  quiet 
for  at  least  two  days  more.  This  is  wrong  of  you ;  it 
is  reckless.  You  shouldn't.  Why " 


Gaston's  Dream  173 

She  stopped  in  confusion,  leaning  upon  the  rake  in 
her  agitation. 

"Just  for  a  minute,"  he  said.  "I  couldn't  stand  it 
any  longer  in  that  room.  I  felt  I  was  in  prison." 

He  looked  at  her  and  her  eyes  went  to  the  ground. 

"It's  Spring,"  he  laughed.  "It's  hard  to  stay  in- 
doors in  Spring." 

She  raised  her  eyes  now,  looking  at  him  seriously. 

"I  wonder  if  you  ever  are  serious  in  what  you  say?" 

"Serious?  You  bet."  He  was  serious  now.  "Why?" 

"When  people  speak  seriously  they  mean  what  they 
say." 

"Yes.    Well?" 

"You  said  you  wanted  to  begin  all  over,  and  forget 
the  'wild,  tough  kid'  that  you've  been." 

"And  I  do." 

"Do  you  think  there  is  a  fair  chance  to  forget  when 
you  do  wild,  reckless  things  like  this?"  She  slowly  re- 
sumed her  raking.  "You — you  alarm  me  when  you  do 
things  like  this.  You  know  that  Dr.  Sanders  wouldn't 
have  ordered  you  to  be  quiet  unless  it  was  necessary. 
He  knows.  You  can't  go  contrary  to  reason  any  more 
than  other  people  without  paying  for  it." 

For  an  instant  the  old  reckless  spirit  flared  within 
him.  It  was  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  to  speak  out 
boastingly  that  there  was  where  she  was  wrong;  that 
because  of  the  way  he  was  made  he  could  do  things 
contrary  to  reason,  things  other  people  might  not  do, 
and  not  pay  for  them  in  the  least;  that  he  had  been 
doing  such  things  ever  since  he  was  grown,  and  that 
he  had  never  paid,  not  once. 

But  he  checked  himself.  He  knew  now,  on  second 
thought,  that  he  was  paying  now,  that  he  had  paid 
every  time  he  had  dreamed  of  her  and  had  been  unable 
to  fit  himself  into  the  picture,  and  that  if  he  was  to 
have  a  right  to  make  the  dream  come  true  he  must 


174  Gaston  Olaf 

regulate  his  life  so  that  he  would  be  as  other  people, 
people  who  lived  in  towns,  sanely,  ordinarily.  For  a 
flash  the  sense  of  confinement  of  the  room  he  had  just 
quitted  passed  over  him ;  but  she  was  before  him,  lean- 
ing on  the  rake-handle  now,  her  eyes  upturned  to  him, 
and  for  the  moment  he  felt  that  he  could  do  anything 
— yes,  even  live  in  a  house,  tractable  and  contented,  all 
his  life — for  the  sake  of  the  look  which  she  gave  to 
him  and  him  alone. 

"You're  right,"  he  said  contritely.  "But  you'll  be 
patient  with  me,  won't  you  ?  You  know  I've  got  a  lot 
to  learn." 

"Of  course  I  will." 

Her  eyes  rose  to  his  and  quickly  fell  again.  She 
began  to  rake  slowly. 

"I  want  to  make  good,"  he  said  huskily.  "Will  you 
be  patient  with  me  while  I'm  trying?" 

She  nodded,  slowly  raking  the  leaves  over  and  over 
again. 

"I  believe  you  can  do  almost  anything  if  you  really 
want  to,"  she  said  without  looking  up.  "But  please 
do  stop  and  think  when  you  feel  moved  to  do  reckless 
things." 

"I  will.  I've  got  nothing  to  do  but  sit  and  think, 
up  in  that  room." 

And  far  into  that  night  he  sat  in  his  room  and 
thought.  At  last  he  seemed  to  see  his  path  of  life  clear 
before  him.  No  more  reckless  roaming — steady  work, 
and  a  home. 

He  blew  out  the  light.  Before  getting  into  bed  he 
stole  a  peep  out  at  the  star-filled  sky.  He  could  hear 
the  river  murmuring  at  the  bend,  strong,  untamed, 
restless,  happy.  He  leaned  on  the  casing,  studying 
the  sky. 

By  the  stars  and  by  the  "look"  of  the  woods  he 
knew  it  to  be  shortly  after  midnight.  The  murmuring 


Gaston's  Dream  175 

of  the  river  grew  more  distinct.  He  could  picture  the 
brown  water  as  it  swung  around  the  bend.  A  fine 
river.  He  had  never  travelled  it.  A  man  might  drop 
a  canoe  in  below  the  settlement  and  it  would  carry 
him.  .  .  . 

Gaston  tore  himself  away  from  the  window  sharply. 
He  laughed  at  the  vagrant  straying  of  his  thoughts. 

"No  more  of  that,  old  boy.  You're  settling  down 
and  making  a  little  home.  That  other's  all  right  for  a 
kid;  but  work,  doing  something,  a  home,  that's  the 
thing  for  a  man — for  you." 

And  for  the  time  being  he  honestly  believed  that  it 
was  so. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  FIRST    MARSHAL  OF   HAVENS   FALLS 

THE  second  morning  following  Dr.  Sanders  had 
pronounced  Gaston  free  to  resume  strenuous  ac- 
tivities.   Soon  after  Hale  came  into  the  room  as  Gaston 
was  preparing  to  quit  it. 

"A  man  came  up  from  La  Croix  last  night  who'd 
like  to  meet  you." 

"Meet  me?"  said  Gaston.    "Who  can  he  be?" 

"Jim  Lonergan." 

Gaston  Olaf  sat  up  excitedly. 

"What!  Old  'Iron  Trail'  Lonergan!" 

He  had  often  heard  of  that  grim,  persistent  railroad 
builder,  who  was  thrusting  his  steel  rails  into  that  part 
of  the  North  wherever  he  discovered  a  locality  that 
promised  farms,  settlements  and  filled  freight-cars.  It 
was  said  that  Lonergan  looked  at  scenery  and  saw  tons 
of  freight  per  annum.  His  reputation  was  one  of 
squareness  and  success. 

"What  in  the  world  does  he  want  to  meet  me  for?" 

"He'll  tell  you  himself." 

Hale  stepped  out  and  returned  with  a  stocky,  square 
block  of  a  man,  white-haired,  round-faced,  brick- 
brown  from  sun  and  wind,  genial  and  patient.  In  the 
first  glimpse  Gaston  saw  a  resemblance  to  Hale,  Hale 
as  he  might  be  when  he  was  twenty  years  older.  Fol- 
lowing came  Dr.  Sanders,  Perkins,  the  postmaster,  and 
two  other  of  the  decent  settlers. 

Lonergan  looked  Gaston  over  leisurely,  nodded,  and 
held  out  his  hand. 

176 


First  Marshal  of  Havens  Falls  177 

"They  grow  'em  big  and  wide  where  you  come  from, 
I  see,"  he  said.  "Now,  Male's  been  telling  me  a  few 
things  about  you,  and  I'm  pretty  much  inclined  to 
take  his  word.  The  question  to  be  answered  before 
we  go  any  farther  is :  Do  you  figure  on  staying  put  in 
this  country?" 

"That's  my  idea,"  replied  Gaston.  "Old  Dave  Tag- 
gart  says  I  can't,  but  I  differ  with  him  there." 

"Exactly."  Lonergan  rubbed  his  hands  together. 
"Thorson,  we  need  you  for  marshal  of  the  town  of 
Havens  Falls." 

Gaston  slowly  rose  to  his  feet.  He  was  at  first 
moved  to  break  forth  into  scornful  laughter.  But  Hale 
and  Lonergan  were  watching  him  seriously,  anxiously. 
Lonergan  went  on,  swiftly  and  earnestly : 

"We  need  you,  Thorson.  You've  shown  that  you're 
the  man  we've  been  praying  for.  You  drop  down  here 
like  a  godsend.  You  know  what  a  hell-hole  this  settle- 
ment is.  You  know  what  a  town  it  ought  to  be,  what 
the  country  around  ought  to  be  for  settlers.  We  can't 
open  it  up  the  way  things  are.  They've  got  to  be 
changed.  We've  been  waiting  for  the  right  man  to 
come  along  to  help  us  change  them,  and  now  he's  come. 
You  say  you  intend  settling  down  here.  Good.  Then 
you  owe  the  settlement  a  citizen's  duty.  That  duty 
is  to  be  its  first  marshal.  What  do  you  say?" 

"One  question,"  said  Gaston  suspiciously.  "Are  you 
fixing  up  to  make  me  your  gun-expert  to  shoot  off  old 
Taggart  legally?" 

Lonergan  and  Hale  and  the  others  smiled. 

"It'll  hardly  be  necessary  to  do  any  shooting — if 
you're  our  marshal.  Taggart  is  powerful  and  danger- 
ous because  he  has  a  gang  at  his  beck  and  call.  His 
gang  is  dangerous  because  they  know  they're  safe  from 
the  law.  Give  us  a  marshal  to  tame  them,  and  the 
backbone  of  the  Taggart  power  is  broken.  Now,  if 


178  Gaston  Olaf 

you'll  pardon  me  for  saying  it,  Thorson,  I've  got  it 
figured  that  you  intended  to  make  it  a  private,  personal, 
old-fashioned  affair  between  yourself  and  Taggart?" 

"Of  course.  He's  threatened  to  run  me  out  of  the 
country.  It's  got  to  be." 

"And  you'd  probably  win.  We'll  admit  that  you 
would.  And  law  and  order  would  be  just  as  far  away. 
It  would  only  be  another  shooting  scrape.  But — if  the 
marshal  of  Havens  Falls  broke  up  Taggart's  gang,  the 
law  would  be  established  as  something  men  would  re- 
spect, the  way  for  the  railroad  would  be  cleared,  and 
civilisation  would  begin  to  have  its  inning.  Have  I 
made  our  meaning  clear?" 

Gaston  nodded. 

"But  what's  the  use  of  talking?"  he  said,  turning 
to  Hale.  "As  I  understand  it,  Taggart's  got  his  own 
sheriff  of  the  county,  and  his  grip  on  the  courts  is  too 
strong  for  you  fellows  to  break." 

"It  was  until  the  other  day,"  said  Hale. 

"How  come?" 

"It  was  until  the  other  morning  when  you  took  a 
drive  smack  away  from  Taggart's  gang." 

Lonergan  broke  into  a  quiet  laugh. 

"Big  medicine,  Thorson,  skookum  medicine!"  he 
chuckled.  "I've  been  prowling  around  this  bush  longer 
than  you've  lived,  but  that's  the  best  I  ever  heard.  As 
Hale  says,  Taggart's  grip  was  too  strong  to  be  broken 
up  to  then.  He  was  the  big  chief  that  nothing  could 
touch.  But  since  then — well,  I've  spread  the  news  to 
the  far  corners  of  the  county,  and  if  there's  a  white 
man  who  isn't  laughing  every  time  he  hears  Taggart's 
name  mentioned,  there's  something  wrong  with  that 
man  sure.  No,  sir;  Dave  Taggart  isn't  the  big  chief 
he  was.  You  did  more  than  save  those  logs  for  poor 
old  Havens'  girl,  Thorson,  when  you  did  that  trick; 
you  got  a  peavey  into  the  old  man,  and  if  we  heave 


First  Marshal  of  Havens  Falls  179 

on  it  hard  enough  we  ought  to  pry  him  loose.  Come 
with  us,  boy.  We  need  you;  the  town  needs  you. 
Well,  give  us  your  answer." 

"I'll  go  you,"  said  Gaston.  "It's  a  job  that's  got 
to  be  done." 

"Good!  You're  appointed;  that's  agreed.  We'll 
have  the  papers  hurried  up  from  La  Croix  in  a  day 
or  two." 

Lonergan  remained  while  the  others  departed. 

"Can  you  lay  your  hands  on  a  few  hundred  dollars, 
Thorson?"  he  asked  when  they  were  alone. 

Gaston  told  of  the  timber  claims  he  and  Tom  Pine 
had  proved  up. 

"Sell  'em.  Turn  'em  into  cash.  Then  buy  this  forty 
just  back  of  town.  It  belongs  to  me;  I'll  sell  it  for 
whatever  you  get  for  your  timber." 

"That  stump  land !    Why  should  I  buy  that  ?" 

"Because  that's  where  the  rails  of  the  Havens  Falls 
main  line  is  going  to  run.  Five,  ten  years  from  now 
you  can  name  your  own  price  for  town  lots.  That's 
going  to  be  your  pay  for  making  this  place  fit  for  white 
folks  to  live  in — if  you  do.  A  few  men  who're  in  on 
the  ground  floor  are  going  to  get  decently  rich  out  of 
this  town  site,  Thorson,"  he  concluded  as  he  arose. 
"There's  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  make  yourself 
the  big  buck  of  'em  all." 

Gaston,  left  alone,  rubbed  his  eyes.  He  went  to  the 
window  and  looked  out,  and  all  he  saw  was  Rose 
Havens's  garden.  It  certainly  looked  as  if  his  dream 
might  come  true.  Here  was  Opportunity.  Havens 
Falls  would  become  a  town.  He  would  become  one  of 
the  big,  solid  citizens  of  the  town.  Then  he  would 
have  the  right 

"Hi!    Gaston  Olaf,  dast  I  come  in?" 

Tom  Pine's  gruff  voice  brought  Gaston  out  of  his 
reverie.  The  old  man  came  in  with  the  narrowed  eyes 


i8o  Gaston  Olaf 

and  soft  step  that  told  he  was  keenly  on  the  alert.  He 
looked  Gaston  over  from  top  to  toe. 

"Huh !"  he  snorted.  "What  you  been  doing  to  your- 
self ?  You  look  as  solemn  and  self-satisfied  as  if  you'd 
got  religion." 

"I've  got  a  job,"  said  Gaston. 

"A  job?  You  bet  you  have.  You've  got  a  job  on 
your  hands  that  it's  time  you  were  waking  up  to." 

"I'm  the  new  marshal  of  Havens  Falls." 

Tom  Pine  cackled. 

"I  jest  heard  about  that.  But  that  ain't  the  job  I'm 
talking  about.  While  you  been  talking  with  the  high 
mucky-mucks  I've  been  doing  a  little  trailing.  The 
war's  started,  boy.  The  sheriff's  just  got  into  town. 
He's  come  to  arrest  you  for  shooting  one  Murphy. 
Yes,  they're  keeping  the  bluff  up,  and  he's  getting  a 
small  army  together  down  at  McCarthy's  to  come  and 
take  you." 

Gaston  frowned  thoughtfully. 

"So  the  old  man's  started  the  ball  rolling  so  soon, 
has  he?  I  thought  he'd  wait  till  I  was  on  my  pins. 
Pretty  fair  scheme.  If  that  sheriff  ever  got  me  in 
his  charge  I'd  never  bother  Taggart  any  more." 

"You  ain't  in  no  fit  shape  for  a  battle,  Gaston  Olaf." 

"No,  and  the  time  isn't  ripe  for  a  battle."  His  mind 
was  made  up.  "We're  going  to  sneak.  We're  going 
to  run  away.  Go  get  our  rifles,  Tom  Pine.  I'll  meet 
you  on  the  other  side  of  the  ridge." 

Tom  Pine's  look  betrayed  his  surprise. 

"By  the  great  pike-pole!  Gaston  Olaf,  you're  al- 
most getting  sense." 

While  Tom  was  securing  the  rifles,  Gaston  dropped 
out  of  the  window,  slipped  unobserved  into  the  timber, 
and  rounded  the  big  ridge  back  of  town.  There  in  a 
tiny  cedar  swamp  he  was  soon  joined  by  Tom,  who, 
noting  the  perfect  cover,  nodded  his  approval. 


First  Marshal  of  Havens  Falls  181 

"We  can  jest  lay  up  here  safe  as  a  bear  in  his  den, 
me  going  back  for  chuck  after  dark,  and  nobody  ever 
looking  for  us  so  close  to  town." 

"Yes,  we  can,  and  then  we  can  do  something  else, 
too.  Did  you  happen  to  hear  anything  about  Tag- 
gart?" 

"Oh,  he  wasn't  in  town,  of  course.  I  heard  that 
much." 

"Of  course  he  wasn't.  He  wouldn't  be  anywhere's 
around  while  his  hired  men  are  putting  me  out  of  busi- 
ness. Come  on." 

"Hah?    You  ain't  going  to  hit  the  trail,  Gaston?" 

"I  guess  yes.  I've  got  a  hunch  I  know  where  Tag- 
gart  is.  He's  alone  in  the  woods  while  his  gang  is  in 
town  tending  to  me.  Do  you  think  I'm  going  to  miss 
such  a  chance?  Come  on." 

Avoiding  the  river,  the  road,  trails,  clearings,  they 
swung  by  a  roundabout  way  through  the  woods  toward 
the  camp  where  they  had  worked  for  Taggart.  They 
forded  the  west  branch  above  the  watch-house,  then, 
instead  of  following  the  stream,  Gaston  led  the  way 
straight  into  the  woods. 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  when  at  last 
they  lay  flat-bellied  under  the  brush  of  a  hillside  and 
peered  down  at  the  little,  hidden  clearing  with  Tag- 
gart's  strange  cottage  in  the  centre.  They  had  found 
Taggart's  trail,  and  knew  he  was  before  them. 

For  a  long  time  they  lay  there  in  silence,  making 
no  sound  or  movement  that  might  betray  their  pres- 
ence to  some  sharp-eyed  watcher  down  below.  So  far 
as  they  could  see,  the  clearing  was  deserted ;  the  doors 
and  windows  of  the  house  were  open,  and  occasionally 
a  sound  came  floating  up,  too  faint  to  be  distin- 
guished. 

"I  guess  he  ain't  there,"  whispered  Tom  Pine 
finally.  "And  if  he  was,  Gaston  Olaf,  what's  your 


1 82  Gaston  Olaf 

scheme  for  handling  him?  You  say  you're  all  for 
law  and  order  now,  and  no  shooting  goes.  What 
then?" 

"I'm  the  marshal  of  Havens  Falls,"  replied  Gaston. 
"My  job  is  to  break  up  the  gang  that's  making  the 
town  a  hell-hole.  If  the  gang  suddenly  wakes  up  and 
finds  that  it  hasn't  got  any  Taggart  to  nerve  it  up,  the 
job  of  busting  it  will  be  about  cut  in  half." 

"So  we " 

"We  kidnap  Taggart  and  keep  him  in  a  nice  dry 
place  till  the  gang's  been  kicked  to  pieces  and  sent 
floating  down-stream." 

"All  right,"  Tom  Pine  nodded  quietly.  "I  ain't  sur- 
prised at  anything  you  do  any  more.  First  we  steal  a 
drive,  now  it's  old  Devil  Dave  himself.  All  right, 
Gaston  Olaf,  let's  go  down  and  get  him." 

"We'll  wait  until  dark.  We're  on  his  out-trail  now, 
so  if  he  leaves  he's  got  to  come  this  way.  No  hurry." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

TAGGART'S  CHANCE 

WHEN  darkness  had  fallen  sufficient  to  hide  their 
movements,  they  slipped  down  to  the  edge  of 
the  clearing.     The  lamps  in  the  house  were  lighted, 
but  the  curtains  were  down. 

"The  old  devil  isn't  taking  any  chances  even  out 
here  in  the  woods,"  whispered  Gaston.  "Come  on !" 

As  they  moved  into  the  clearing,  an  owl  hooted : 
"Hoo-hoo-hoo !"  from  beside  the  house. 

Gaston  and  Tom  crept  forward,  pushing  their  rifles 
before  them,  until  they  were  within  striking  distance 
of  the  open  door.  Then  at  a  signal  they  leaped  for- 
ward. They  were  in  the  doorway,  their  rifle-muzzles 
covering  the  interior ;  the  house  was  theirs. 

"And  you  wish — gentlemen?" 

The  dark  woman  whom  Gaston  had  seen  at  his  pre- 
vious visit  to  the  house  rose  from  a  table;  the  little 
blonde  looked  up,  laughing. 

"Have  some  beer?"  she  tittered,  holding  forth  a 
glass.  "Or  some  trout?  You're  just  in  time  for 
supper." 

Gaston  looked  at  the  table.     It  was  set  for  three. 

"Where's  the  old  man  ?"  He  pointed  with  the  rifle- 
barrel  at  the  third  plate. 

"Mina,"  called  the  dark  woman. 

From  the  kitchen  a  greasy  squaw  came  forth,  and 
at  a  signal  sat  down  in  the  third  chair. 

"No,  you  don't,"  cried  Gaston.  "There's  a  bottle 
of  champagne  there;  you  aren't  giving  champagne  to 
squaws." 

183 


1 84  Gaston  Olaf 

"Serve  the  wine,  Mina,"  said  the  dark  woman. 

The  squaw  obediently  drew  the  cork  and  poured  a 
glass  for  each  of  the  women. 

"And  the  third  glass — how  about  that?" 

"That's  a  mistake." 

"It  is;  it  gives  you  away.  Tom,  you  take  a  look 
around.  I'll  watch  here." 

At  the  word  Tom  eagerly  stormed  through  the 
house.  Gaston  could  mark  his  progress  as  he  kicked 
his  way  from  room  to  room,  and  searched  for  hiding- 
places.  In  a  few  minutes  he  came  running  back,  car- 
rying in  his  hand  Taggart's  wide-brimmed  hat. 

"By  the  open  back  window,  Gaston  Olaf !"  he  cried. 
"He  was  here,  but  he's  gone.  This  was  knocked  off 
his  head  getting  away." 

"Hoo-hoo!"  hooted  the  owl  outside,  now  farther 
away.  "Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo !" 

Gaston  and  Tom  looked  at  each  other  in  disgust. 

"That  darn  Injun!"  growled  Tom.  "And  men  like 
me'n  you  couldn't  tell  the  difference!  And  we  didn't 
have  sense  enough  to  look  for  a  trail  leading  out  be- 
hind." 

"Some  wine?"  smiled  the  dark  woman,  holding 
forth  a  glass. 

"Or  beer?"  laughed  the  blonde.  "You  ought  to 
get  something  out  of  your  trip." 

Gaston  bowed  low,  cap  in  hand,  in  his  very  best 
manner. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  ladies.  It  was  a  bad  mistake 
on  our  part.  We  should  have  watched  both  sides  of 
the  house.  You  may  tell  Mr.  Taggart  that  he  was  too 
smart  for  us." 

"Sit  down,"  said  the  dark  woman,  smiling  her  best. 
"There's  no  use  chasing  him;  he's  got  away  by  now. 
Won't  you  have  some  wine?" 

"With  the  little  knockout-drops  in?     No,  thanks. 


Taggart's  Chance  185 

You've  already  gained  a  few  minutes  for  Taggart, 
though.  So  we  must  bid  you  good-bye." 

The  little  blonde  made  one  bid  to  hold  them  longer. 

"Gee!  Big  man.  I  believe  I  could  leave  Taggart 
for  you." 

"Good-night.     I'm  sorry " 

He  saw  that  the  girl  was  laughing  at  something  and 
glanced  toward  the  open  window. 

Taggart,  standing  outside,  was  leaning  over  the  sill, 
carefully  covering  Gaston  and  Tom  with  a  double- 
barrelled  shot-gun.  There  was  no  need  for  speech. 
Gaston  and  Tom  were  too  experienced  to  take  chances 
with  such  wicked,  business-like  eyes  as  gleamed  at 
them  over  the  barrels.  It  was  life  or  death,  the  deci- 
sion to  be  made  in  a  split  second,  and  they  froze  stiff, 
their  rifles  hanging  harmlessly  under  their  arms. 

"That's  right."  Taggart's  fangs  showed  as  he 
smiled.  He  had  been  drinking.  "A  move  and — well, 
we  won't  speak  of  what  would  have  happened.  The 
—the  tables  are  slightly  turned,  aren't  they,  Thorson? 
You're  not  the  big  man  just  at  present.  No,  just 
now  you  look  like  an  ordinary  whipped  dog.  And, 
like  every  dog  who  gets  in  my  way,  you've  had  your 
day." 

Gaston's  eyes  looked  down  the  gun-barrel  into  the 
eyes  of  Taggart.  There  in  the  terrible,  silent  conflict 
of  wills  the  issue  was  decided. 

"Ah,  Taggart!  You've  had  your  last  chance  to  get 
me  out  of  your  way."  Gaston's  voice  rang  with 
the  fibre  of  triumph.  "Pull  that  trigger.  Touch  her 
off.  Blow  my  head  off.  That's  your  only  chance. 
And  that's  gone  now.  It  was  gone  the  second  after 
you  got  the  drop.  You  could  have  done  it  then,  while 
our  backs  were  to  you.  You  can't  do  it  now.  Your 
chance  is  gone.  See?  You  can't  look  me  in  the  eye 
and  do  it.  It  isn't  in  you,  Taggart.  You're  trying, 


186  Gaston  Olaf 

but  it  won't  work.  You're  done  for.  Your  chance  is 
gone.  I'll  drive  you  out  of  the  country  now.  Look  at 
his  gun  wobbling.  Look!  Look!" 

Like  a  flash  he  threw  himself  backward,  knocking 
Tom  Pine  under  him.  His  long  legs  flew  out,  kicking 
the  table  smack  into  the  window  where  Taggart  stood. 

The  shot-gun  roared  ineffectually.  The  big  kerosene 
lamp  on  the  table  exploded,  flirting  liquid  flame  about 
the  room. 

There  was  a  hell's  medley  of  flame  and  screams,  of 
cursing  and  scrambling,  as  the  women  blindly  threw 
themselves  about  to  escape  the  flames.  Tom  and  Gas- 
ton  thrust  the  women  to  safety  through  the  open  door, 
and,  running  into  the  next  room,  made  their  escape 
through  a  rear  window. 

"Into  the  brush!"  commanded  Gaston.  "The  In- 
dian's around  somewhere.  He'll  have  a  shot-gun,  too." 

From  a  hiding-place  in  the  brush  they  looked  back 
at  the  clearing.  The  cottage  was  spouting  flame  at 
every  window.  The  clearing  was  brilliantly  illumi- 
nated, but  the  light  revealed  no  trace  of  Taggart  or  the 
women.  Apparently  they  had  fled  the  moment  that  it 
was  certain  that  the  cottage  was  doomed,  not  wishing 
to  be  found  by  any  one  whom  the  flames  might  draw 
from  the  woods. 

The  same  thought  was  in  Gaston's  mind,  and  when 
it  became  apparent  that  the  danger  from  Taggart's 
shot-gun  was  passed,  he  caught  Tom  by  the  arm  and 
led  the  way  into  the  timber. 

On  a  ridge  a  mile  away  they  dropped  on  the  ground 
and  lay  looking  back.  Up  in  the  dark  sky  hung  a  red- 
tinted  pall,  the  reflection  of  the  burning  building.  In 
that  waste  of  dead,  black  forest  the  scene  was  appall- 
ing, an  angry  splotch  of  passion  in  a  sea  of  peace. 

Higher  and  fiercer  rose  the  flames,  licking  eagerly 
at  the  rich  furnishings  of  the  den,  and  redder  and 


Taggart's  Chance  187 

larger  grew  the  glow  in  the  sky.  The  fire  rose  rapidly 
to  its  climax,  spouted  high  as  the  roof  fell  in,  then 
gradually  began  to  subside,  while  minute  by  minute 
the  nightly  gloom  of  the  forest  crept  slowly  back  to 
its  own. 

"Good  enough,"  said  Gaston  at  last.  "That's  a  good 
sign.  Taggart's  been  burnt  out  of  one  of  his  dirty 
nests.  May  the  good  work  go  on." 

Tom"  Pine  was  rubbing  his  brow  in  perplexity. 

"What  happened?"  he  demanded.  "What  for  did 
you  go  to  rile  him  up  so  sudden,  Gaston  Olaf  ?  We 
might  'a'  got  hurt." 

"It  was  our  only  chance.  We  had  to  rattle  him.  He 
got  mad;  I  saw  by  his  eyes  that  he'd  loosened  his 
trigger  grip.  Then  I  dropped  and  kicked  the  table.  I 
had  the  thing  worked  out  fine." 

"Pretty  fine,"  agreed  Tom  dubiously.  "That's  the 
closest  I  ever  heard  buck-shot  whistle  past  this  old 
head.  If  it  had  been  any  finer ' 

"I  wouldn't  have  made  a  move,"  Gaston  laughed. 
"We  certainly  didn't  come  away  from  there  with  any 
credit,  Tom.  Walked  into  it  with  our  eyes  wide  open 
and  blind." 

"Ye-es.  It  wasn't  so  bad,  though ;  we  were  able  to 
walk  out  again.  We  didn't  take  anything  away,  but 
we  didn't  leave  anything,  either.  Now,  what  next  ?" 

"We'll  keep  on  walking.  The  chances  are  Taggart'll 
have  his  sheriff  and  posse  out  here  looking  for  us  as 
soon  as  he  can  send  'em  word.  They'll  search  this  neck 
of  the  woods  pretty  close,  and  there'll  be  too  many  of 
'em  for  us ;  so  we'll  travel.  Come  on !" 

He  set  out,  picking  his  way  dexterously  through  the 
dark  woods,  at  a  good  pace,  and  Tom  followed  obedi- 
ently. The  course  lay  straight  westward  for  two 
miles,  to  the  bank  of  a  small  creek  running  north  and 
south. 


i88  Gaston  Olaf 

"Here's  where  we  lose  'em  when  they  come  to  follow 
us,"  said  Gaston,  and  plunged  into  the  water. 

Tom  followed.  They  went  down-stream  a  short 
distance  and  came  out  upon  a  sandbar,  leaving  their 
tracks  large  and  plain,  pointing  westward. 

After  losing  their  trail  in  a  swamp,  they  re-entered 
the  creek  and  waded  up-stream  for  half  a  mile  to 
where  a  tangled  windfall  permitted  them  to  quit  the 
stream,  on  the  eastern  side,  without  touching  the 
ground  and  making  tracks.  Their  course  now  lay 
eastward  and  slightly  to  the  north. 

They  travelled  steadily  for  most  of  the  night. 
Shortly  before  daybreak  they  searched  for  and  found 
a  small,  well-built  shanty  in  the  midst  of  a  good 
growth  of  timber.  Tom  Pine  laughed  as  they  entered, 
and,  by  feeling,  found  matches  where  they  had  left 
them  the  day  they  started  for  Havens  Falls. 

"Home  again !"  he  cried. 

"Yes,"  said  Gaston.  "We'll  lay  low  on  our  claims 
here  for  a  couple  of  days  and  rest  this  bum  shoulder  of 
mine.  We'll  hit  back  to  town  to  be  there  Saturday 
night." 

"Saturday  night?    Why  then?" 

"Because  then  I  figure  the  pot'll  be  about  due  to 
boil  over." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

SATURDAY  NIGHT 

IT  was  drive-time  on  the  La  Croix;  it  was  pay-day 
for  the  camps ;  and  it  was  Saturday  night  in  Havens 
Falls. 

For  such  nights  existed  the  river-fronts  of  river 
towns  in  the  bad  old  days;  on  such  nights  was  made 
the  lurid  history  that  is  remembered  even  now,  when 
river  towns,  as  they  were,  have  ceased  to  exist.  Mad, 
glorious  nights  after  sober  days  of  bone-testing  toil ! 

No  one  who  has  seen  a  river  town  on  such  a  night 
will  ever  forget  it,  even  though  the  recollection  is  ac- 
companied by  a  shudder.  Then  the  men  came  in  off 
the  drive,  wet  with  the  water  which  had  snatched  at 
their  lives  during  the  day,  mad  with  the  hunger  lor 
a  night's  excitement  before  going  back  to  their  toil. 
Then  from  out  of  the  woods  came  the  camp-men  in 
bodily  condition  like  unto  a  prize-fighter  in  training, 
mentally  akin  to  bucks  in  rutting  time,  prowling  about 
for  a  chance  to  fight.  There  assembled  on  such  occa- 
sions dozens  of  the  most  daring,  reckless,  muscular 
men  who  ever  inhabited  this  continent.  In  their  pockets 
they  carried  money,  running  often  into  the  hundreds. 

To  the  right  and  left  the  red  lights  blinked,  and 
music  tinkled,  advertising  the  things  that  the  river- 
front had  to  give  in  exchange  for  money.  Supply  fol- 
lows the  demand.  Whisky  and  women;  lights  and 
music ;  gambling  and  association  with  their  kind ;  noise 
and  strife — these  were  the  things  that  the  excitement- 
hungry  woodsmen  craved,  and  these  were  the  things 

189 


190  Gaston  Olaf 

that  the  river-front  brazenly  announced  itself  ready 
to  supply. 

In  a  mud-chinked  log  building,  with  trees  swaying 
at  its  back-door,  one  found  a  gleaming,  polished  dance- 
floor,  where,  by  standing  in  line,  and  for  a  price,  one 
might  dance  with  a  tiny  blonde,  with  the  features  of 
a  Madonna  and  the  eyes  of  a  snake.  In  the  curtained 
boxes  lumber-jacks  had  the  privilege  of  ordering  the 
same  brands  of  champagne  that  wine-agents  advertise 
along  Broadway. 

Old  lumber-jacks,  mackinawed  and  shoe-packed, 
beards  reeking  with  tobacco- juice,  but  pockets  filled 
with  money,  staggered  about  the  floor,  holding  in  their 
arms  girls  young  enough  to  be  their  daughters.  Young 
jacks,  slim,  clean-eyed  boys,  spent  their  money  on 
painted  things  old  enough  to  be  their  mothers. 

Next  door  one  could  gamble  at  anything  from 
chuck-luck  to  roulette.  Any  lumber- jack  who  by  ac- 
cident won  a  few  dollars  calculated  to  hold  his  win- 
nings by  the  strength  of  his  good  right  arm. 

But  these  devices  of  pleasure  were  but  supplements 
to  whisky.  It  was  the  bars  over  which  liquor  was 
served  that  drew  the  men  and  furnished  reasons  for 
the  other  things;  and  it  was  in  the  bare  saloons  that 
the  greatest  crowds  were  to  be  found  and  the  most 
violent  actions  indulged  in. 

On  this  Saturday  night,  while  Gaston  and  Tom  Pine 
were  wending  their  way  to  town,  there  were  probably 
a  hundred  and  fifty  men  from  the  woods  in  Havens 
Falls.  Jack  McCarthy's  saloon,  being  the  largest  in 
the  settlement,  drew  the  largest  part  of  this  number. 

McCarthy  was  experienced  in  such  occasions,  and  he 
knew  that  serious  rows  were  no  source  of  profit  to  his 
till.  Hence,  early  in  the  evening,  he  seated  himself  on 
a  stool  just  inside  the  door.  Twenty-five  per  cent,  of 
the  lumber-jacks  came  into  town  bearing  rifles.  As 


Saturday  Night  191 

such  a  one  entered  McCarthy's  place  the  proprietor 
crooked  a  finger  and  pointed  at  a  corner  behind  the 
bar.  The  lumber-jack  promptly  placed  his  weapon 
with  the  others  deposited  there.  There  were  two- 
score  rifles  behind  McCarthy's  bar  that  night  before  the 
fun  had  fairly  begun. 

Gaston  and  Tom  entered  the  settlement  shortly  after 
dark  and  at  once  made  their  way  unobserved  into  Dr. 
Sanders's  back  room.  The  doctor  greeted  them  with 
great  surprise  and  greater  relief. 

"Boys — boys!  I'd  almost  lost  hope  of  seeing  you 
again." 

"Why  so?" 

"For  good  and  sufficient  reasons.  First,  because  of 
the  way  you  disappeared  without  leaving  any  word. 
That  worried  me,  but  I  figured  you  might  have  done 
that  for  a  reason.  But  when  the  sheriff  and  his  gang 
went  hunting  you " 

"Oh!    They  did  hunt  for  us,  then?" 

"Hunt  for  you!  Boys,  they  certainly  did.  They 
made  a  sudden  raid  on  the  hotel,  surrounded  it  and 
forced  their  way  in.  You  were  gone.  As  near  as  I 
could  figure  it  you'd  been  gone  about  twenty  minutes 
when  the  raid  came.  Then  they  searched  the  town. 
They " 

"Did  they  go  up  there?"  Gaston  nodded  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  Havens  home. 

"They  did.  Miss  Rose  invited  the  sheriff  to  go 
through  and  see  that  you  weren't  hiding  there.  She 
told  him  you  wouldn't  hide  from  a  man  like  him.  Yes, 
they  went  through  the  whole  town. 

"Then  that  night  they  got  word  and  went  into  the 
bush  after  you.  I  heard  that  they'd  heard  where  you 
were.  Then  they  came  back  and  said  they'd  run  you 
out  of  the  country,  and,  boys,  I  was — hm,  hm — I  was 
afraid  they'd  caught  you  and  put  you  out  of  business. 


192  Gaston  Olaf 

And,  say,  somebody  else  was  worrying,  too,  and  I 
think  you  ought  to  show  yourself  up  there  as  soon  as 
you  can." 

"All  right.     And  what's  happened  since  then?" 

"Oh,  the  sheriff  and  most  of  his  gang  have  gone  back 
to  La  Croix.  But  the  crowd  that's  in  town  to-night — 
hm,  hm — there'll  be  Billy  the  Devil  to  pay  before  morn- 
ing." 

"What's  up?" 

"Well,  the  crew  that  you  took  the  drive  away  from 
has  been  trying  to  clean  out  the  town.  The  rest  of 
the  men  have  been  giving  them  the  laugh.  There  are 
a  lot  of  men  in  town  who  haven't  any  use  for  Tag- 
gart,  although  they've  been  in  his  camps.  There's  the 
crew  from  Camp  One,  forty  men  or  more,  just  paid 
off.  They've  heard  about  what  you  did  to  that  drive, 
and  Taggart  can't  show  himself  without  getting  the 
merry  ha-ha!  There  have  been  half  a  dozen  small 
riots  already.  Taggart's  bullies  have  been  trying  to 
choke  off  the  fellows  who  dare  to  talk  about  how  you 
took  the  drive." 

"Have  they  been  able  to  do  it?"  asked  Gaston  with 
great  interest. 

"Not  much !  There  are  too  many  of  the  other  fel- 
lows. But  the  bullies  have  turned  to  this  end  of  town. 
Red  Shirt  Murphy  knocked  a  kid  down  and  robbed 
him  across  the  street  there  just  a  few  minutes 
ago." 

"Red  Shirt,  eh?    And  Taggart— what's  he  up  to?" 

"Hm,  hm.  He's  keeping  himself  hidden.  But — 
whisper — the  old  man's  been  drinking  his  head  off 
these  last  two  days,  and  he's  egging  his  bullies  on." 

"Fine!"  laughed  Gaston. 

"What?" 

"Fine !  Then  the  chances  are  that  old  Davy  will  try 
to  do  something  to-night  to  still  the  laughter  and  make 


Saturday  Night  193 

people  remember  that  he's  still  the  boss  man  along  the 
La  Croix." 

"That's  just  how  we  figure  it." 

"And  Red  Shirt  Murphy  has  committed  a  crime. 
Were  there  any  witnesses  ?" 

"Half  a  dozen." 

"Fine  again.  I'm  Marshal  of  Havens  Falls;  it's  my 
duty  to  arrest  any  one  who  commits  a  crime.  Murphy 
will  be  the  first  victim  of  Law  and  Order  in  Havens 
Falls." 

"Man,  dear !    On  a  night  like  this " 

"Just  the  time.  The  way  to  break  a  jam  is  to  break 
her  when  she's  keyed  up  tightest." 

He  moved  toward  the  door,  the  rear  door,  for  the 
time  to  reveal  himself  to  the  settlement  had  not  ar- 
rived. 

"You  wait  here  for  me  a  few  minutes,  Tom,"  he  said 
easily. 

"Nix.  You  don't  go  leaving  me  out  of  any  of  this 
fun,"  protested  Tom. 

"The  fun  doesn't  start  just  yet.  I've — I've  got  some- 
thing else  to  do  just  now." 

"Yes— hm,  hm,"  said  the  doctor.  "She'll  be  glad 
to  see  that  you're  back." 

Gaston  went  directly  to  the  Havens  house.  It  was 
a  warm,  dark  night,  and  in  his  rubber-bottomed  shoes 
he  made  no  more  noise  than  a  cat  as  he  came  swiftly 
up  to  the  door.  The  door  was  open,  as  was  a  window 
at  one  side. 

The  front  room  was  brightly  lighted  and  Gaston 
could  not  help  looking  in,  and,  having  looked,  could  not 
help  hearing  what  was  being  said.  It  halted  him,  and 
he  stood  looking  and  listening. 

Hale  was  in  the  room  with  Rose  and  Mrs.  Havens. 
Hale  was  on  his  feet,  speaking,  and  his  sober,  round 
face  wore  a  look  of  worry. 


194  Gaston  Olaf 

"I  think  you  ought  to  go.  If  I  had  the  power  I 
would  make  you  go.  This  is  no  time  for  you  to  stay 
here." 

"Are  you  going  away,  too  ?"  asked  Rose. 

"Of  course  not.  That's  different.  But  there's  no 
reason  why  you  should  stay.  We  can't  tell  what  they'll 
do  before  morning.  I'll  give  you  my  team  and  a  driver 
and  you  can  go  down  to  La  Croix  and  wait  until  the 
thing  blows  over." 

Rose  smiled. 

"If  you  will  drive  us,  Dick " 

"Oh,  you  know  I  can't  do  that.  A  man  can't  run 
away." 

"But  a  woman — a  girl — can?" 

"Certainly.     That's  common  sense." 

"We're  going  to  stay  here,  Dick."  Rose  was  very 
quiet.  "I  know  how  well  you  mean  it — but  we  will 
not  run  away." 

"Bravo!"  cried  Gaston,  striding  in.  They  started 
at  the  sight  of  him;  but  Gaston  looked  only  at  Rose, 
and  his  heart  swelled  at  the  look  she  gave  him.  "I 
apologise  for  hearing  what  wasn't  intended  for  my 
ears.  I  was  just  coming  in.  Miss  Havens,  with  you 
here  we  know  we  must  keep  Taggart's  outfit  away 
from  this  end  of  town;  and  if  we  must,  we  can." 

He  laughed  as  he  spoke.  His  spirits  were  at  top 
crest.  The  situation,  the  opportunity  to  fight  to  protect 
Rose,  was  like  wine  to  his  blood.  It  lifted  him,  made 
his  heart  beat  madly.  He  felt  strong  enough  to  fight 
the  world ;  he  had  a  mad  impulse  to  go  forth  singing, 
to  battle  single-handed  with  the  gang  in  its  lairs. 

And  then  he  remembered.  Those  mad,  joyous,  im- 
practical impulses  and  actions  were  no  longer  for  him. 
That  was  past.  For  him,  sober,  respectable,  practical 
effort. 

He  heaved  a  sigh  as  he  noted  that  Rose's  eyes  were 


Saturday  Night  195 

comparing  him  to  Hale.  The  comparison  scarcely 
could  be  favourable  to  him,  he  knew.  His  fringed 
buckskin  trousers,  high-top  rubbers,  flaming  red  sash 
and  carelessly  buttoned  shirt  were  in  dire  contrast  to 
Hale's  neat  store-clothes.  In  the  woods,  the  odds 
would  have  been  in  his  favour;  here  it  was  obviously 
Hale  who  had  the  better  of  it. 

As  they  questioned  him  about  his  absence  and  re- 
turn, Gaston  made  a  mental  note  that  he  would 
change  to  "town  clothes"  as  soon  as  the  opportunity 
offered.  And  then  he  must  hold  himself  in,  must  sup- 
press those  reckless  impulses,  and  make  himself  into  a 
regular  respectable  citizen. 

"I  can  win  her,"  whispered  his  keen  instinct.  "But 
I've  got  to  tame  myself — I've  got  to  quiet  down." 

As  a  beginning  he  reconsidered  his  words  concern- 
ing Hale's  suggestion  that  Rose  and  her  mother  leave 
town. 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  the  right  thing  to  do,"  he  sug- 
gested; but  Rose  laughed  at  his  sudden  change  of 
front. 

"If  we  had  decided  to  stay  before  you  were  here, 
certainly  we  won't  change  our  minds  now  that  you've 
come." 

"Well,"  said  Gaston  dubiously,  "I  don't  know.  It's 
always  best  to  be  safe,  and  you'd  surely  be  safer  down 
at  La  Croix  than  you  are  here." 

Rose  thanked  him  with  a  look. 

"I'm  very  glad  to  hear  you  talk  in  that  tone,"  she 
said,  "but  I'm  sure  you  don't  really  think  there's  any 
danger  to  us  here.  Do  you  ?" 

"As  Hale  says,  you'd  surely  be  safe  in  La  Croix,"  he 
replied  evasively. 

"But  as  you  said,  since  we're  going  to  stay  here, 
we'll  be  assured  safety.  So  here  we  stay." 

Hale  presently  excused  himself. 


196  Gaston  Olaf 

"I  want  to  see  Lonergan,"  he  explained. 

"Hello!"  exclaimed  Gaston.     "Lonergan  here?" 

"Yes.  He's  here  with  half-a-dozen  men.  He's  pre- 
paring to  lay  out  his  line  between  La  Croix  and 
here." 

"That  will  help.  That  means  seven  more  men  on 
our  side." 

"Yes.  Good  men,  too.  I  must  tell  Lonergan  you're 
back  in  town." 

Gaston  left  the  house  soon  after  Hale,  and  Rose 
followed  him  to  the  gate. 

"Well,"  he  said  in  parting,  "you  see  I'm  living  up 
to  my  promise  to  change  my  ways.  I  ran  away  and 
hid  when  the  sheriff's  gang  was  after  me,  and  I've  been 
avoiding  trouble  ever  since." 

"I  am  glad,"  she  said. 

"So  am  I.  I'm  glad  that — that  you  wanted  me  to 
change." 

Without  thinking  what  he  did,  his  fingers  strayed 
down  and  reached  her  hand.  But  at  the  thrill  that 
went  through  them  both  at  the  touch,  he  came  to  him- 
self and  drew  his  hand  away.  He  had  no  right  to  do 
that,  or  think  of  it — yet. 

"Good-night,"  he  said  suddenly.     "I  must  go." 

"Promise  me  you'll  be  careful  this  evening?  That 
you  won't  do  anything — wild  ?" 

"Nothing  wild,"  he  said  solemnly.  "That's  all  over. 
I'll  prove  to  you  that  it  is.  Don't  you  believe  it  is?" 

"I  hope — yes.     I  believe  it  is.     Good-night." 

"Good-night,  and — I'll  remember." 

He  meant  it.  He  really  felt  that  he  was  tamed. 
But  he  was  soon  to  learn  how  badly  he  was  mistaken. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

A    FIGHT 

AS  Gaston  went  back  toward  Dr.  Sanders's  office 
there  came  up  from  the  river- front  a  muffled  roar 
of  rage  and  disappointment  that  froze  him  in  his 
tracks,  and  he  stood  looking  down  toward  where  men 
surged  wildly  to  and  fro  in  the  gleam  of  the  lights 
from  opened  windows  and  doors.  Something  had  hap- 
pened down  there  that  had  brought  sudden  anger  to 
a  large  number  of  the  crowd. 

The  shouting  came  from  one  of  the  larger  saloons, 
and  after  the  first  sudden  explosion  of  anger  there 
followed  an  insistent  clamour,  apparently  for  revenge. 

Ever  since  he  had  heard  from  Dr.  Sanders  that  a 
large  percentage  of  the  men  in  town  were  laughing 
at  Taggart  and  his  gang,  and  that  the  gang  was  growl- 
ing over  it,  Gaston  had  been  imbued  with  a  wild  hope : 
if  the  two  elements  would  get  to  fighting  each  other, 
the  gang  would  be  too  busy  to  turn  seriously  on  the 
decent  people  of  the  town.  He  hacj  just  promised 
Rose  that  he  would  be  careful ;  and  to  stand  to  one 
side  and  let  the  two  sides  fight  among  themselves  was 
the  height  of  caution. 

At  first  he  had  planned  to  go  down  and  arrest  Red 
Shirt  Murphy  before  the  eyes  of  his  friends,  casting 
the  challenge  of  law  and  order  in  their  teeth.  But 
this  would  inevitably  have  precipitated  a  conflict  be- 
tween the  gang  and  the  decent  citizens.  So  now  as 
he  moved  alone  down  toward  the  river- front,  without 

197 


198 


Gaston  Olaf 


troubling  to  call  for  Tom,  it  was  in  his  mind  only  tcs 
conduct  a  secret  scouting  expedition  and  ascertain,  if 
possible,  whether  there  was  a  prospect  that  the  two 
elements  in  the  crowd  would  clash  in  battle.  If  so, 
he  and  the  other  respectable  citizens  of  Havens  Falls 
had  only  to  hold  themselves  to  their  upper  part  of 
town  and  pray  that  the  outsiders  would  lick  Taggart's 
men  to  the  last  whisper. 

In  this  cautious  frame  of  mind,  Gaston,  aided  by 
the  dark  night,  soon  was  mingling  with  the  crowd 
before  the  building  whence  came  the  clamour. 

"What's  the  row  here,  neighbour?"  he  asked,  keep- 
ing his  face  averted  from  the  stranger  whom  he  ad- 
dressed. 

"Oh,  he  just  knocked  another  of  our  boys  colder'n  a 
dead  fish,"  was  the  nonchalant  reply. 

"Who  did  ?"  asked  Gaston  carelessly. 

Before  his  informant  could  reply  there  came  a  shout 
from  the  doorway. 

"Gangway  there — gangway!  Open  up,  so  he  can 
get  some  air." 

Shouldering  and  cursing,  their  faces  cold  and  ugly 
with  rage,  came  two  middle-aged  woodsmen  dragging 
between  them  the  limp,  bloody  figure  of  a  curly-headed 
youth.  The  boy  was  nearly  as  big  as  Gaston.  The 
two  men  carried  him,  each  holding  him  up  by  the  arms, 
his  head  rolling  drunkenly,  his  feet  dragging  helplessly 
on  the  ground.  His  face  was  smashed  red  and  raw, 
and  there  was  a  cruel  gash  in  the  back  of  his  head. 
Outside  the  crowd,  which  only  glanced  at  him  and 
turned  away  to  view  what  was  going  on  in  the  saloon, 
they  laid  him  down  and  splashed  water  in  his  face. 
There  were  half  a  dozen  in  the  circle  about  him,  tried, 
hard-bitten  men  of  the  woods,  and  Gaston  saw  that 
they  were  all  strangers  to  him. 

"He's  got  his  gloves  loaded,"  muttered  the  battered 


A  Fight  199 

youth,  as  consciousness  returned.  "I  tell  you  there's 
lead  in  those  gloves  of  his." 

"Shut  up!"  commanded  one  of  the  men  who  had 
carried  him  out.  "Doesn't  make  any  difference  if  there 
was  dynamite  in  'em ;  we  said  we  could  find  a  man  to 
lick  him.  Boys,"  he  turned  to  the  little  group,  "how 
about  it?  Are  we  going  to  let  that  darn  prize-fighter 
brag  about  licking  three  of  our  boys  without  anybody 
getting  him?" 

"Lemme  go  back  at  him!"  pleaded  the  youth. 
"I  was  half  stewed  when  I  got  into  the  ring  with 
him.  Head's  cleared  now;  I  can  handle  him  now, 
boys." 

"You  can't  handle  yourself — lay  down!  You 
handled  your  mitts  like  a  Swede." 

"We  got  to  get  him  licked,"  growled  another  man. 
"We  can't  hold  up  our  heads  if  we  don't." 

Gaston's  blood  leaped  quickly.  Forgotten  was  the 
new  policy  of  caution.  Here  was  a  chance  to  win 
Crew  One  as  his  devoted  followers ! 

"Well,  rustle  around,"  continued  the  spokesman. 
"Get  some  one.  Who  can  we  get?  Tim  Blake,  he's 
licked,  and  Big  Robideau,  and — Erik  here." 

"Them's  the  best  men  from  our  crew." 

"Well,  somebody  else,  then.  Holy,  suffering  Moses ! 
Anybody.  Let's  go  hunt  for  some  one." 

They  started  back  toward  the  crowd. 

"Hold  on,  boys." 

They  swung  back.  Gaston  had  stepped  out  of  the 
darkness  and  was  standing  beside  the  fallen  youth. 
With  one  glance  of  their  sharp  eyes  those  woodsmen 
appraised  him.  Then  they  came  toward  him,  respect- 
fully, eagerly. 

"What's  going  on,  boys?"  asked  Gaston.  "Some 
champion  in  town?" 

They  looked  him  over  in  silence. 


2OO  Gaston  Olaf 

"Stranger,"  exploded  their  spokesman,  "can  you 
handle  your  mitts  at  all?" 

"Have  done  so,"  replied  Gaston.     "What's  up?" 

"A  knocker-out  in  Sam's  place.  A  professional. 
Bets  any  amount  he  can  knock  out  any  man  in 
two  rounds.  He's  cleaned  three  of  our  boys  so 
far." 

"Where  you  from,  neighbour?"  queried  another 
voice. 

"Don't  make  no  difference  where  he's  from,"  cried 
the  spokesman.  "Question  is:  will  you  take  a  whirl 
at  this  loud  guy?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind,"  said  Gaston. 

"Then  he's  one  of  our  crew — Crew  One — no  mat- 
ter where  he's  from.  Come  on.  Gangway  there,  you 
town  hoboes.  We  got  a  man  to  clean  your  champion 
now.  Come  on,  boys !" 

Gaston  paused  to  bend  over  the  battered  youth. 

"How  did  he  give  you  that  clip  in  the  back  of  the 
head,  boy?"  he  asked. 

"Loaded  gloves,  I  tell  you,"  insisted  the  boy.  "I  can 
tell  when  lead  hits  me,  can't  I  ?" 

"Lead  nothing,"  said  some  one.  "He  lets  you  feel 
of  his  gloves.  But  he  strikes  an  awful  blow,  stranger. 
The  boys  have  dropped  like  they  was  shot." 

"All  right." 

They  were  at  the  doorway  of  the  saloon  now.  The 
place  was  crowded  with  men.  At  the  farther  end  of 
the  room  was  a  tiny  stage,  on  which  usually  singers 
and  dancers  held  forth.  To-night  two  ropes  were 
stretched  across  the  front  of  the  stage.  The  two  side 
walls  and  a  canvas  drop  at  the  back  constituted  the 
other  three  sides  of  the  ring. 

Through  the  haze  of  tobacco-smoke,  which  hung  like 
clouds  about  the  hanging  oil-lamps,  Gaston  could  make 
out  the  figure  of  the  fighter  leaning  over  the  ropes, 


A  Fight  201 

gloves  on  his  hands,  sneering  at  the  crowd,  while  at  his 
side  a  hawk-nosed  gambler  cried  : 

"Come  on,  boys ;  bring  up  your  fighting  men !  Even 
money,  any  amount;  you  haven't  got  a  man  can  stay 
two  three-minute  rounds  with  the  'Butcher  Boy.'  He 
only  weighs  a  hundred  sixty-five,  boys.  Come  on, 
some  of  you  fire-eaters ;  get  the  easy  money." 

Gaston  looked  over  the  crowd  first  of  all.  He  recog- 
nised here  and  there  one  of  Taggart's  men,  Red  Shirt 
Murphy  among  them,  but  to  his  satisfaction  he  saw 
that  more  than  half  of  the  men  were  strangers  to  him. 
They  were  the  outsiders,  the  men  who  had  laughed  at 
Taggart  because  of  the  trick  of  the  stolen  drive,  and 
just  at  present  they  were  begging  for  somebody  to  step 
up  and  knock  that  guy's  block  off. 

The  men  who  were  to  be  counted  as  Taggart's  were 
with  the  pugilist.  It  was  their  turn  to  laugh  now,  and 
they  were  taunting  the  outsiders  with  the  failure  of 
their  would-be  champions. 

"Get  a  good  man !"  they  sneered.  "What's  the  mat- 
ter, Crew  One  ?  Haven't  you  got  one  good  man  among 
you?" 

The  air  of  the  room  was  heavy  with  tension.  The 
outsiders  were  taking  these  taunts  in  ominous  silence. 

Gaston  looked  at  the  prize-fighter  last  of  all.  The 
man  was  of  medium  height  with  enormous  neck  and 
shoulders  and  a  small  shaved  head.  His  thick,  gnarled 
arms  and  bowed  legs  told  of  great  strength,  but  it 
seemed  rather  the  slow,  heavy  strength  of  the  wrestler 
than  the  speed  and  power  of  the  pugilist. 

"What's  the  matter  ?  Haven't  you  got  a  good  man  ?" 
howled  the  fighter's  partisans. 

"You  darn  know  it !"  came  back  the  reply  from  the 
door,  and  Gaston  Olaf  and  his  six  new-found  friends 
came  rushing  down  the  room  to  the  ring. 

In  a  vague,  far-away  sort  of  fashion  Gaston  Olaf 


202  Gaston  Olaf 

realised  that  he  had  taken  upon  himself  a  desperate 
venture.  A  small,  still  voice  was  whispering  to  him 
that  this  was  a  dangerous  thing  to  do;  that  Taggart's 
men  would  recognise  him;  that  they  would  seek  to 
collect  the  price  which  he  knew  Taggart  must  have 
set  on  his  head. 

But  the  voice  was  so  small  that  he  scarcely  heard  it ; 
the  realisation  of  danger  came  to  him  from  far  away 
and  as  through  a  fog.  What  he  realised  keenly  was 
that  his  veins  were  throbbing  with  excitement.  And 
now  under  the  spur  of  the  moment  he  realised  that 
this  was  what  his  nature  craved  above  all  things,  that 
he  had  stepped  into  his  present  dangerous  position  be- 
cause his  real  nature  had  led  him  to  it. 

These  thoughts  came  and  went  in  one  troubled  flash. 
Then  he  was  the  old  reckless,  dare-devil  Gaston,  glory- 
ing in  the  power  of  his  young  giant's  body,  thrilled  to 
the  core  by  the  prospect  of  the  fight  ahead  of  him.  He 
laughed  boyishly;  he  was  happy. 

There  was  a  moment  of  stillness  as  he  climbed 
through  the  ropes.  Taggart's  men,  recognising  him, 
were  awed  to  silence  by  his  audacity  at  appearing  in 
such  a  place.  Then  the  outsiders  broke  into  a  whoop 
and  crowded  forward,  clamouring  to  bet  what  re- 
mained of  their  rolls  on  this  new  champion. 

The  pugilist  looked  Gaston  over  with  a  horrible 
grimace,  intended  for  a  smile  of  contempt. 

"Deh.  bigger  dey  are,  deh  harder  dey  fall,"  he 
barked.  "Give  'im  deh  mitts,  ref'ree.  He's  in  fer  an 
orful  tumble,  dis  guy  is.  Here,  feel  o'  my  gloves,  so 
yah  won't  holler  dere's  lead  in  'em  when  I  knock  yah 
cold." 

Gaston  felt  of  the  thin  gloves.  There  was  no  hard 
substance  in  them. 

"Here's  yours." 

The  gambler,  acting  as  referee,  tossed  him  a  pair  of 


A  Fight  203 

thin  gloves  similar  to  the  pugilist's.  Gaston  was  puz- 
zled at  the  obvious  confidence  of  the  professional  and 
the  gambler.  By  their  faces  the  fight  was  only  a  for- 
mality; it  was  as  good  as  over,  with  him  as  another 
victim  of  the  pug's  prowess.  Why  was  this?  His 
keenly  alert  instinct  suddenly  cried  out  a  warning. 
There  was  something  wrong  here;  he  must  be  on 
guard  against  a  trick. 

"Come  on!"  bellowed  the  gambler.  "Anybody  else 
want  to  back  the  big  fellow  against  the  little  Butcher 
Boy?" 

Gaston,  leaning  against  the  ropes  in  his  corner,  was 
watching  the  crowd.  He  saw  Red  Shirt  Murphy 
whispering  with  another  man. 

"Come  on!"  he  cried.     "Let's  get  started." 

"Hi!  D'you  know  who  that  big  stiff  is?"  cried  the 
man  to  whom  Murphy  had  spoken. 

"Don't  know  and  don't  care,"  replied  the  fighter. 

"That's  Thorson— that's  the  guy  who  stole  the 
drive!" 

The  room  was  still  for  an  instant.  Then  Gaston's 
backers  lifted  the  roof  with  their  shout. 

"Hoop  la!  Thorson!  Bully  boy!  Clean  him  up 
like  you  cleaned  Devil  Dave.  Eat  'im  alive!" 

The  pugilist  grinned,  and  the  gambler  looked  bored. 
It  was  apparent  that  they  cared  not  in  the  least  about 
who  Gaston  was;  all  comers  looked  alike  to  them. 
What  could  the  trick  be  that  made  them  so  confident? 

Gaston  looked  swiftly  around  the  ring.  The  ropes 
in  front  were  all  right;  there  could  be  no  trick  there. 
The  sides  were  bare  walls,  all  right.  The  rear  was  a 
sheet  of  canvas 

Gaston  felt  a  slight  chill  along  his  spine  and  his 
breath  came  sharply.  There  were  two  tiny  holes  cut 
in  the  curtain,  so  tiny  that  in  the  poor  light  it  re- 
quired eyes  as  sharp  as  his  to  see  them.  And  for  a 


204  Gaston  Olaf 

flash  as  he  looked,  then  instantly  disappearing,  there 
showed  behind  each  hole  a  watching  eye. 

"Something  wrong  behind  that  curtain,"  Gaston 
mused.  "I'll  keep  away  from  it." 

His  thrill  at  the  prospect  of  combat  suddenly 
changed  and  gave  place  to  a  cold,  seething  rage.  They 
would  try  an  unfair  trick  on  him,  would  they!  His 
jaw  set  and  his  eyes  flashed  fire. 

"Come  on,  you  cheap,  dirty  crook !"  he  hissed.  "I'll 
spoil  your  circus  and  break  your  head  besides." 

"No  more  bets?    All  bets  on?" 

"Our  money's  all  up.  Kill  him,  Thorson,  eat  him 
alive!" 

"Knock  him  cold,  Butcher  Boy !"  roared  Red  Shirt. 
"Then  we'll  give  it  to  him  right." 

"Go!"  shouted  the  gambler,  and  leaped  from  the 
ring. 

The  crowd  surged  forward,  packing  tightly  against 
the  ropes.  Gaston  had  a  flash  of  the  first  row,  and, 
seeing  half  a  dozen  of  Taggart's  men  there,  knew  that 
more  trouble  awaited  him  when  the  fight  was  over. 

He  had  little  time  to  think  of  this.  The  fighter 
came  at  him  like  a  whirlwind.  It  was  only  a  feint. 
Gaston  led,  the  pug  ducked,  and  Gaston  suddenly  found 
himself  clinched  and  shoved  toward  the  curtain.  He 
broke  the  clinch  without  any  trouble. 

The  fighter  feinted  and  clinched  again.  This  time 
he  had  a  hold  about  the  middle.  With  a  heave  he 
lifted  Gaston  from  the  floor  and  rushed  him  against 
the  canvas  hanging.  Gaston  threw  himself  forward 
even  as  his  back  touched  the  curtain  and  in  that  instant 
the  secret  of  the  fighter's  success  was  revealed  to  him. 
A  blow  as  from  an  axe  took  him  on  one  side  of  the 
neck,  but  his  forward  movement  had  taken  him  too  far 
away  to  permit  the  blow  to  land  with  full  force.  As 
it  was  it  knocked  him  to  his  knees.  Stars  flew  around 


A  Fight  205 

his  head ;  he  felt  nauseated,  for  a  moment.  And  then 
he  was  on  his  feet,  with  a  Berserk  bellow  of  rage. 

The  pug  struck  wildly,  right  and  left,  and  turned 
and  ran.  Gaston  caught  him  at  the  ropes.  He  grappled 
him  neck  and  thigh  and  swung  him  over  his  head, 
roaring  deep  down  in  his  chest.  Without  a  flicker  of 
hesitation  the  gambler  reached  for  his  gun,  only  to 
be  dropped  by  the  fists  of  two  Crew  One  men  who  had 
been  watching  him  for  just  such  action. 

Gaston  steadied  himself  with  the  squirming  man 
held  above  his  head.  It  was  a  good  ten  feet  across 
the  ring.  Gaston  hurled  his  victim  straight  through 
the  air  into  the  canvas.  The  curtain  ripped  and  came 
down,  and  the  two  black-jack  men  behind  it  were  ex- 
posed with  their  weapons  in  their  hands. 

"There!"  cried  Gaston.  "There's  why  your  men 
lost,  boys  !"• 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE  COMING  OF  LAW  AND  ORDER 

IT  took  them  a  few  seconds  to  realise  what  had  hap- 
pened. Was  it  possible?  Had  these  town  crooks 
really  had  the  nerve  to  play  such  a  trick  on  Crew  One  ? 
For  a  moment  they  gaped ;  then  they  swore  softly  and 
swarmed  toward  the  ring.  A  number  of  the  gangsters 
made  the  mistake  of  trying  to  halt  them  and  hold  them 
back. 

"Hoop  la!"  cried  the  woodsmen,  and  the  room  full 
of  men  exploded  in  battle  royal. 

The  small  ring  became  a  place  where  a  dozen  men 
were  struggling  instead  of  two.  Down  on  the  floor 
two-score  men  met  fist  to  fist.  The  outsiders  were  in 
the  majority,  and  they  were  out  to  avenge  the  unfair 
tactics  by  which  their  men  had  been  beaten,  the  taunts 
hurled  at  them,  and  the  temporary  loss  of  their  money 
— temporary  because  four  of  them  stripped  the  gambler 
down  to  the  last  yellow  diamond  on  his  fingers. 

In  the  ring  Gaston  fought  furiously  against  odds 
until  the  rush  of  his  friends  carried  his  foes  underfoot. 
He  was  marked,  but  he  soon  was  satisfied  with  his 
share  of  the  struggle,  and  he  managed  to  free  himself 
for  a  moment  from  the  press. 

The  outsiders  by  this  time  had  the  whip-hand  and 
the  fight  had  become  knock-down-and-drag-out.  Tag- 
gart's  gangsters  were  being  hurled  through  doors  and 
windows.  Later  they  would  return  with  reinforce- 
ments and  the  battle  would  be  renewed,  but  for  the 
time  being  the  fight  was  all  to  Crew  One. 

206 


The  Coming  of  Law  and  Order     207 

It  was  no  part  of  Gaston's  programme  to  take  part 
in  a  general  rough-house.  He  realised  how  greatly  for- 
tune had  favoured  him  in  his  desperate  venture,  and 
returning  calmness  dictated  that  he  escape.  In  a  jam 
near  the  door  he  caught  sight  of  the  flaming  upper 
garment  of  Red  Shirt  Murphy. 

Murphy  was  cornered  by  two  young  lumber-jacks 
who  were  polishing  him  off  to  the  queen's  taste.  A 
smile  flitted  over  Gaston's  face,  and  he  dropped  into 
the  melee  on  the  floor.  It  was  the  work  of  a  few  sec- 
onds to  work  his  way  through  to  the  door. 

"Let  him  go,  boys,"  he  commanded,  clutching  Mur- 
phy's arm.  "He's  my  meat." 

"All  right,  champeen,"  they  said,  and  turned  to  hunt 
a  fresh  victim. 

"Leggo  me!"  growled  Murphy.  "Hey,  Taggart's 
men,  here's  Thorson.  Knife  him,  somebody,  knife 
the !" 

Gaston  twisted  his  arm  behind  him  and  thrust  him 
outside.  Two  of  Murphy's  friends  came  running  to- 
ward him. 

"Out  of  the  way,"  said  Gaston.  "I'm  arresting 
Murphy  for  robbing  that  kid  this  evening.  I'm  mar- 
shal of  this  town.  Pretty  soon  I'll  come  back  and  get 
some  more  of  you.  Out  of  the  way.  Hike !" 

At  a  dog-trot  he  propelled  Murphy  ahead  of  him 
out  of  the  crowd  and  up  the  street,  before  any  one 
dared  to  make  a  move.  The  amazed  gangsters  stood 
dumfounded  while  Gaston  ran  his  prisoner  across  the 
open  space  separating  the  two  parts  of  town.  He  was 
in  front  of  Hale's  store  before  they  moved.  Then 
they  shouted : 

"Hi!  Thorson's  gobbled  Red  Shirt  and's  carrying 
him  off.  Come  here  to  me.  We  got  to  get  Red  Shirt 
away." 

Gaston  threw  his  prisoner  into  Hale's  store.    Hale, 


208  Gaston  Olaf 

Tom  Pine,  Dr.  Sanders,  Lonergan  and  six  of  his  men, 
old  Perkins,  the  postmaster,  and  a  few  others,  were 
assembled  there. 

"Here's  the  first  prisoner  of  the  first  marshal  of 
Havens  Falls,"  announced  Gaston.  "Law  and  order 
has  come,  gentlemen.  Guard  him  carefully.  I'll  be 
back  in  a  minute." 

He  snatched  his  rifle  from  Tom  Pine's  hand  and  was 
outside  and  half-way  back  toward  the  red  lights  by 
the  time  Murphy's  friends  had  gathered  courage  to 
follow.  There  were  probably  a  dozen  of  them,  and 
they  came  cursing  up  the  street,  demanding  Gaston' s 
life,  and  the  freedom  of  Murphy. 

Where  the  light  from  a  window  streaked  across  the 
street  Gaston  drew  a  line  in  the  sand  with  the  toe  of 
his  shoe,  and  slung  his  rifle  into  the  hollow  of  his 
arm. 

"Here's  where  you  fellows  stop — right  at  this  line," 
he  said  quietly.  "First  one  across  it  gets  what's  in  the 
old  gun.  Who  wants  it  first?" 

The  gang  stopped  short.  In  the  yellow  flare  of  light 
Gaston  was  not  a  pleasant  object  to  face.  There  was 
blood  on  his  face  from  the  fight ;  his  shirt  was  torn  in 
several  places;  his  thick  crop  of  hair  was  disordered 
till  each  hair  seemed  to  be  standing  on  end.  And  in 
the  half-light  his  blue  eyes  gleamed  wickedly. 

He  was  very  serious.     There  was  no  joy  of  battle 
about  this.     This  was  business,  duty.     It  was  some 
thing  that  had  to  be  done,  and  he  happened  to  be  the 
man  on  whom  the  job  of  doing  it  had  fallen. 

"There's  the  line,"  he  said.  "That's  the  line  that 
marks  the  coming  of  law  and  order  to  Havens  Falls. 
You  fellows  have  done  just  as  you  please  up  to  now. 
You  can't  do  that  any  more.  Things  have  changed. 
I've  been  made  marshal  of  this  town.  I'm  here  to 
tell  you  fellows  your  day  of  being  top-loaders  here  is 


The  Coming  of  Law  and  Order     209 

over.  Understand  ?  From  now  on  I'll  tell  you  what 
you  can  do  and  what  you  can't  do  in  this  town.  And 
first  of  all  you  can't  come  up  into  this  part  of  town. 
You  can't  cross  that  line.  Do  you  understand?" 

Gaston  sensed  that  people  were  moving  toward  him 
from  behind.  He  looked  and  saw  that  in  the  dark- 
ness at  his  back  a  crowd  had  gathered  to  his  support. 
Nearest  him  were  Tom  Pine,  Lonergan  and  Hale. 
Each  of  them  was  armed  with  a  shot-gun. 

Dr.  Sanders,  Perkins,  Lonergan's  men  and  others 
were  there,  too,  bringing  the  total  number  up  to  ten, 
all  armed.  They  came  silently,  stretching  across  the 
street  in  a  ragged  line.  It  was  a  new  business  to  most 
of  them ;  their  faces  were  white  and  they  were  breath- 
ing hard.  But  within  them  was  the  spirit  of  the  town- 
makers,  the  men  of  homes,  who  bring  order  into  the 
wilderness. 

This  was  something  that  had  to  be  done  for  the 
good  of  the  town.  Before  them  were  the  forces  of 
lawlessness  and  disorder,  from  which  they  and  theirs 
had  suffered  helplessly  for  so  long.  Behind  them  were 
their  homes,  their  women,  their  children — all  that  was 
sacred  in  the  world  to  them.  And  the  time  had  come 
for  them  to  stand  out  between  these  and  the  forces 
of  evil. 

They  didn't  like  to  do  it;  fighting  wasn't  in  their 
line.  But  it  had  to  be  done.  So  they  were  doing  it.  And 
Taggart's  gangsters  looked  at  the  silent  line  of  white 
faces,  and  the  formidable  figure  that  led  them,  and 
grew  weak.  As  always,  the  bravado  courage  of  the 
bad  man  was  as  the  recklessness  of  a  boy  in  the  face 
of  the  calm  determination  of  law-abiding  citizens  de- 
fending their  homes. 

The  two  sides  faced  each  other  in  silence ;  then  Gas- 
ton's  voice: 

"Now  toddle  back  to  your  boss.     Tell  him  what's 


210  Gaston  Olaf 

happened.  Tell  him  this  rule  has  come  to  stay.  You 
fellows  can't  come  up  into  this  part  of  town  any  more. 
Then  round  up  all  of  your  gang  and  see  if  you  can 
scare  up  nerve  enough  to  come  back  and  cross  that 
line." 

Then  the  tension  broke.  The  gangsters  began  to 
slink  back  one  by  one.  They  went  with  curses  on  their 
lips.  A  dozen  yards  away  they  stopped  and  put  their 
heads  together. 

"We'll  come  back,  all  right,"  growled  one  of  them, 
as  they  continued  their  retreat.  "And  when  we  come, 
you  fellows'll  be  glad  to  get  out  of  town  alive." 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

TAGGART'S  DEFIANCE 

G  ASTON  turned  about  and  faced  the  posse  which 
had  assembled  to  his  support.  He  did  not  laugh 
at  the  threat  which  had  been  hurled  at  them.  The 
mood  of  recklessness  had  passed;  he  was  as  coldly 
serious  and  determined  as  the  most  sober  citizen 
present. 

"Well,  we've  served  notice  on  them  now,"  he  said 
quietly. 

His  eyes  ran  swiftly  up  and  down  the  line  and  sud- 
denly he  was  filled  with  a  great  pride  at  the  thought 
of  being  chosen  leader  by  such  men.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  Tom  Pine  and  a  couple  of  reckless  young- 
sters in  Lonergan's  crew,  the  business  in  hand  was 
appalling  to  his  followers.  They  were  not  men  of 
violence;  they  were  men  with  a  hunger  for  orderly 
communities.  Some  of  them  actually  were  sick  at 
stomach  from  the  unaccustomed  sensations  of  the  sit- 
uation. Yet  not  one  of  them  but  plainly  told  by  the 
look  on  his  face  that  he  was  ready  to  stand  up  and 
give  life  itself  if  necessary  in  order  that  the  new  rule 
of  law  and  order  might  be  established. 

To  Gaston,  who  always  deprecated  his  own  courage 
because  the  prospect  of  trouble  only  filled  him  with 
joy,  there  was  something  heroic  in  the  courage  of  these 
quiet  citizens.  He  saw  them  in  a  new  light — especially 
Hale.  Hale  was  handling  his  shot-gun  clumsily,  but 
his  eyes  were  as  steady  as  Gaston's,  or  Tom  Pine's. 

211 


212  Gaston  Olaf 

"Yes,"  said  Lonergan,  "we've  served  'em  notice. 
Now  they've  either  got  to  pull  their  steel  or  back 
down." 

"They  won't  back  down,"  said  Hale.  "Taggart 
won't  let  'em." 

"Nope."  Old  Perkins  was  nervously  chewing  to- 
bacco. "Nope,  they  won't  back  down." 

"Neither  will  we,"  said  another  man. 

"No,"  they  said,  almost  as  one. 

"What  did  you  do  with  Murphy?"  asked  Gaston. 

"Put  him  in  a  shack  back  of  the  postoffice  with  two 
men  to  guard  him." 

They  stood  looking  down  toward  the  red  lights.  It 
was  quiet  down  there,  but  Gaston  knew  what  trouble 
was  boiling  and  doubts  assailed  him  as  he  considered 
the  possible  results  to  these  men. 

"Have  I  done  right,  boys?"  he  asked. 

"You've  done  right." 

"I've  brought  trouble  coming  to  you." 

"It  had  to  come  sometime.    Better  now  than  later." 

"All  right.  They  won't  be  back  here  for  a  little 
time  at  least.  Let's  go  to  Hale's  store  and  decide  what 
to  do." 

In  the  light  of  the  store-lamps  they  saw  the  blood 
on  his  face. 

"Hey!"  cried  Dr.  Sanders.  "I  knew  there'd  be 
work  for  me  to-night,  but  I  didn't  think  it  would  start 
so  soon.  How'd  you  get  that?  Come  here  while  I 
fix  you  up.  Who  gave  it  to  you?" 

Gaston  opened  his  mouth  to  tell  of  the  fight  in  the 
saloon,  but  stopped.  Looking  back  upon  it,  he  saw 
suddenly  how  desperate  and  reckless  had  been  his  ad- 
venture. In  the  same  instant  he  remembered  how, 
but  a  short  time  ago,  he  had  promised  to  be  careful 
this  night.  He  felt  ashamed. 

"Murphy's  friends,"  he  replied  evasively,  bending 


Taggart's  Defiance  213 

over  the  basin  which  the  doctor  had  brought.  "It 
doesn't  amount  to  anything." 

"Amounts  to  this,"  snapped  Tom  Pine,  "you 
sneaked  off  and  hogged  the  fun  after  promising  to  let 
me  in  on  it." 

"Don't  worry ;  there'll  be  plenty  more  fun  before  this 
night's  over.  Now,  let's  put  our  heads  together.  I've 
arrested  Murphy.  He's  our  first  prisoner.  Those  fel- 
lows will  be  after  him,  sure  as  we're  living. 

"Murphy's  nothing  but  a  big  bum,  and  the  best 
thing  to  do  with  him  is  to  kick  him  out  of  town ;  but 
for  the  present  he's  important.  We've  got  to  keep  him 
as  a  warning  to  'em.  So  I  guess  there  won't  be  much 
sleep  for  any  of  us  to-night.  Those  fellows  will  try 
to  nose  around  and  find  out  where  we've  got  him. 
We've  got  to  meet  them  at  that  line  out  there  and 
persuade  'em  to  keep  on  their  own  side  of  the  fence." 

"Right.    You're  the  boss ;  give  your  orders." 

"Well,  I  think  this  store  is  a  good  place  for  us  to 
make  camp  in,"  said  Gaston.  "How  many  more  men 
can  we  get  together  that  we  can  depend  upon?" 

A  silence  fell  over  the  room.     Hale  broke  it. 

"Counting  the  two  men  guarding  Murphy,  we're 
most  of  us  here.  There's  three  or  four  men  more  will 
be  here  later.  Then  there  are  some  away  who  won't 
be  back  to-night.  Count  on  an  even  dozen." 

"A  dozen?"  repeated  Gaston  cheerfully.  "Well, 
we'll  have  to  make  that  do,  then.  We'll " 

"You'll  raise ,  you  will!" 

A  voice  in  the  doorway  brought  the  last  man  of 
them  to  his  feet. 

"You'll  raise and  put  a  foundation  under  it, 

you  will!" 

Taggart  was  standing  there,  his  bulk  filling  the  door- 
way. He  was  all  alone.  He  was  stiff-eyed  from 
whisky ;  his  fang-like  teeth  showed  through  his  ragged 


214  Gaston  Olaf 

beard  in  a  leering  grin ;  and  he  stood  leaning  forward, 
his  huge  hands  curved  before  him  like  claws. 

The  sudden  sight  of  him  sent  a  chill  down  the  back 
of  most  of  those  present.  They  realised  fully  now 
what  they  had  to  combat. 

"Hello,  Taggart,"  said  Gaston  easily.  "Where's 
your  shot-gun  ?" 

Taggart's  head  dropped  further  forward,  his  grin 
grew  wider,  and  if  ever  eyes  flashed  fire  his  blood-shot 
optics  did  then. 

"Thorson,  if  I  was  bothering  about  you  any  more 
I'd  have  brought  a  shot-gun,"  he  said  thickly.  "But 
you're — you're  only  one  dog  in  a  flock  now,  one  cur 
in  a  crowd !  And  I've  decided  to  whip  the  whole  lot 
of  you  out  of  my  country.  Do  you  hear?"  His  voice 
suddenly  rose  to  a  demoniacal  shout  that  shook  the 
lamps  under  the  ceiling.  "The  whole  lot  of  you,  curs 
—dogs,  bitches,  pups!  Yes,  and  your  kennels,  too. 
You're  all  going  together.  Back  up  Thorson,  will 
you?  Follow  him  because  he's  dared  to  buck  me,  eh? 
Ha-ha!  Ha-ha-ha-ha!  Buck  me!" 

He  paused. 

"Buck  me?"  he  repeated  in  a  whisper,  his  face  swell- 
ing horribly.  Suddenly  he  swept  his  arm  before  him 
as  if  brushing  something  out  of  his  way,  and  stepped 
back  a  step.  "All  of  you — whipped  dogs — get  away. 
Take  your  women  and  kids  and  travel.  For  there'll 
be  no  kennels  for  you  to  bed  down  in  when  daylight 
comes  in  the  morning!" 

He  was  gone,  lurching  back  out  of  sight  in  the  dark- 
ness as  suddenly  as  he  had  come. 

The  men  in  the  store  looked  at  one  another.  Old 
Perkins's  shrill  treble  rose: 

"Well,  the  dirty !" 

Then  they  all  looked  at  Gaston.  The  doctor  had 
halted  in  the  act  of  putting  sticking-plaster  on  a  cut  on 


Taggart's  Defiance  215 

his  cheek,  and  Gaston  was  calmly  completing  the  opera- 
tion. 

"Well — darn  it,  Doc,  this  stuff  won't  stick.  Well, 
boys,  now  Devil  Dave  has  served  notice  on  us." 

There  was  no  reply;  they  were  watching  him.  By 
his  calmness  they  sensed  that  he  was  confident  that 
the  solution  of  their  problem  lay  with  him. 

"Wha — what  did  he  mean?"  gasped  a  white-faced 
man. 

"Mean?"  said  Gaston.  "Huh!  That's  easy;  he 
means  that  he's  going  to  burn  the  town!" 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  POWER   OF   WOMAN 

A  MOMENT  of  horror-stricken  silence  followed 
Gaston's  words. 

"Well,  the  dirty  -    -!"  repeated  old  Perkins. 

"Burn  us  out?  Good  God!  He  wouldn't  dare  do 
that!" 

"You  saw  him,  didn't  you?"  said  Gaston.  "Did  he 
look  like  a  man  who'd  stop  at  anything?" 

Lonergan  shook  his  head. 

"He'll  do  it — if  he  can.  He's  done  things  like  it 
before." 

Tom  Pine  cleared  his  throat  noisily. 

"I  could  have  shot  him  right  where  he  stood,"  he 
said,  puzzled.  "I  had  my  gun  right  here.  And  I  was 
thinking:  'You  crooked  old  whelp,  I'll  do  one  good 
thing  in  this  world  and  rid  it  of  you.'  But  I  couldn't 
do  it.  Darn  your  law  and  order;  it's  making  me  soft, 
too." 

"Well  ?"  demanded  Perkins.  "What  are  we  going  to 
do  now  ?" 

"Keep  him  from  doing  it." 

Gaston  looked  his  men  over.  There  would  be  twelve 
of  them  all  told.  Taggart  would  have  fifty.  Gaston 
moved  swiftly  toward  the  door. 

"Boys,  there  aren't  enough  of  us,"  he  said  sharply. 
"We  couldn't  possibly  keep  'em  from  getting  fires 
started.  Everything  is  dry  as  kindling.  If  a  fire  once 
gets  hold  here  now,  everything  goes.  So  we've  got  to 
keep  'em  from  getting  started.  To  do  that  we've  got 

216 


The  Power  of  Woman         217 

to  have  more  men.  And — you  fellows  stay  right  here. 
I'm  going  out  and  try  to  get  'em." 

Tom  Pine  made  to  rise,  but  Gaston  was  away  on 
the  run.  He  knew  that  he  must  act  and  get  results 
swiftly  if  at  all.  And  as  he  ran  by  a  roundabout  way 
for  Sam's  place  he  shook  his  head  at  the  queer  turn 
of  events.  For  if  he  was  to  save  Havens  Falls  he 
must  do  it  because  of  his  carelessness. 

Gaston  knew  lumber- jacks.  He  knew  that  the  men 
whose  champion  he  had  been  and  for  whom  he  had 
exposed  the  methods  of  the  crooked  pugilist,  were,  for 
the  evening  at  least,  his  sworn  friends.  They  would 
have  liked  nothing  better  than  to  hoist  him  on  their 
shoulders,  parade  the  town  with  him,  fill  him  up  on 
all  the  liquors  that  the  place  afforded.  Could  he  halt 
them  in  their  wild  career  of  the  evening  and  turn  their 
hero-worship  to  serious  ends  ? 

He  approached  Sam's  place  cautiously,  keeping  in 
the  dark.  Inside  the  outsiders  were  holding  sway. 
The  saloon-keeper,  eager  for  their  patronage  now  that 
they  had  their  money  back,  had  helped  them  kick 
fighter,  gambler  and  knockout-men  into  the  street,  and 
the  place  was  in  their  hands. 

Gaston  waited  until  one  of  the  older  men  who  first 
had  spoken  to  him  came  out  for  a  moment's  air.  Him 
he  caught  by  the  arm  and  drew  to  one  side  out  of  the 
light. 

"My  name's  McKenzie,  boy,"  insisted  the  man,  "and 
I'm  going  to  buy  you  a  drink  or " 

"All  right,  McKenzie — but  not  just  now.  I  need 
friends." 

"Put  'er  there!"  cried  McKenzie,  shaking  hands. 
"Now,  lead  the  way." 

"I  need  a  lot  of  friends.  This  is  serious,  McKenzie. 
It's  life  or  death  for  me — and  possibly  some  men  and 
women  and  children." 


218  Gaston  Olaf 

McKenzie  sobered  immediately. 

"There's  forty  men  in  our  crew,"  he  said.  "After 
that  fight  we're  with  you  to  a  man." 

"Well,  for  God's  sake,  McKenzie,  round  'em  up! 
Tell  'em  it's  against  that  gang.  If  they're  white  men 
tell  'em  this  is  the  time  to  show  it.  Pass  the  word  on 
the  quiet,  and  get  'em  up  to  the  big  store — Hale's  store 
— as  soon  as  you  can.  And  you  can  promise  them  a 
fight  that  will  make  anything  they've  ever  been  in  look 
foolish.  Do  this  now,  if  you  want  to  square  up  for 
that  fight." 

'  'Nough  said.  I  was  their  foreman  all  Winter.  I'll 
have  'em  there  in  a  hurry,  or  I'm  a  Swede." 

Gaston  hurried  back  to  the  store.  Three  more 
scared-looking  but  determined  men  had  joined  the 
crowd,  so  there  now  were  fifteen  decent  citizens  to 
oppose  Taggart's  gang.  Gaston  looked  them  over  and 
sucked  in  his  lips.  He  had  just  seen  the  river-front 
swarming  with  the  gangsters.  Fifty  of  them  there 
would  be,  and  they  were  a  tough,  hard-bitten  crew. 
Futile  to  oppose  them  with  these  soft-muscled  towns- 
men. If  McKenzie's  men  failed  him— 

"They're  coming !"  came  the  shout  from  outside. 

"Hoop-la!" 

The  first  of  McKenzie's  crew  came  tumbling  into  the 
room,  half  a  dozen  of  them,  with  big  Erik  in  the  lead. 
They  swarmed  around  Gaston  Olaf,  thrusting  the 
others  aside.  One  man  held  toward  him  a  roll  of  bills ; 
two  held  forth  bottles. 

"There's  your  share  of  the  winnings,  ol'  bear.  We 
chipped  in.  Take  it.  We  won  on  you.  Take  a  drink, 
too." 

Gaston  drank  sparingly  from  each  bottle  and  ac- 
cepted the  bills.  They  would  have  taken  it  as  an  insult 
had  he  refused. 

"Now  that's  all  the  booze  we'll  touch  for  the  pres- 


The  Power  of  Woman         219 

ent,  boys,"  said  he.  "And  this  roll  will  pay  for  a  little 
celebration  afterward." 

Chaffing  them,  shaking  the  hands  that  were  out- 
stretched to  him,  laughing  heartily  as  they  smote  him 
affectionately  on  the  back  and  called  him  endearing 
and  profane  names,  he  received  them  as  they  came 
tumbling  into  the  store.  They  were  eager  to  come, 
eager  to  shake  his  hand.  The  man  who  had  stolen  the 
Taggart  drive,  and  on  top  of  that  given  them  sweet 
revenge  on  the  slugger,  was  for  this  night  their  hero, 
their  great  man  of  the  world.  On  the  other  hand, 
they  were  in  town  to  celebrate,  and  this  store  and  this 
crowd  looked  like  a  mighty  dry  place. 

"Where's  the  excitement,  Thorson?"  they  cried. 
"Stir  'er  up !  This  looks  too  much  like  church  for  us." 

When  McKenzie  came  hurrying  in  at  the  head  of  a 
dozen  men,  bringing  the  number  of  his  crew  present 
up  to  thirty,  Gaston  held  up  his  hand  for  silence. 

"Boys,"  he  began  seriously,  "we  want  you  to  join 
us;  we  need  your  help!" 

"Who's  'we'  ?"  demanded  a  voice. 

"Don't  make  no  difference  who't  is,"  snapped  Mc- 
Kenzie. "There's  a  man  we  owe  our  shirts  to.  You 
listen  to  him." 

"The  gang  that's  been  bucking  you  fellows  all  even- 
ing is  fixing  to  burn  this  end  of  town,"  continued  Gas- 
ton.  He  talked  swiftly,  for  he  saw  that  this  sober 
sort  of  meeting  was  not  to  the  taste  of  the  joyous  lum- 
ber-jacks, and  he  feared  he  might  lose  his  hold.  "That 
gang  is  Taggart's.  You  know  how  they've  run  things 
around  here.  This  end  of  town  is  where  the  white 
people  live  in  this  settlement.  There  are  women  and 
babies  in  these  houses,  boys;  and  that  gang  is  fixing 
to  burn  'em  out.  If  we're  white  men  we  can't  stand 
by  and  see  that  done.  We  need  you  boys  with  us ;  we 
aren't  enough  to  protect  those  women  and  kids  with- 


220  Gaston  Olaf 

out  you.  What  do  you  say?  Are  you  white  men? 
Will  you  stick  with  us  and  keep  that  gang  from  getting 
up  into  this  end  of  town?" 

By  the  silence  that  followed  his  speech  Gaston  knew 
the  men  were  not  won.  Like  wild,  unbroken  colts  the 
lumber-jacks  were  balking.  Had  he  gaily  placed  him- 
self at  their  head  and  led  them  to  clean  out  a  saloon, 
they  would  have  followed  without  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion. But  they  balked  at  this  sober  appeal  for  help  to 
guard  the  houses  of  townspeople  against  fire. 

"Where  the is  the  fun  in  that  ?"  growled  one. 

"Come  on;  let's  go  back  and  get  a  drink." 

"Go  ahead !"  cried  Gaston,  flaring  angrily.  "Go  get 
your  drink;  you  probably  wouldn't  be  any  good  any- 
how." 

"Don't  tear  your  shirt,  Noisy,"  spoke  McKenzie,  his 
hand  on  the  man's  shoulder.  "Stay  right  here.  But, 
lemme  tell  you,  Thorson,  this  isn't  exactly  what  we 
were  looking  for." 

"Afraid?" 

"Come  off,  man;  don't  get  on  your  horse  just  be- 
cause we  don't  fall  over  ourselves  to  go  with  you. 
There's  some  of  us  with  women  and  kids,  too;  and 
we  got  a  living  for  them  on  Taggart's  pay  roll. 
There'd  be  no  more  work  in  this  country  for  a  man 
who  bucked  Taggart's  gang  too  hard." 

At  this  Lonergan  thrust  his  square  figure  beside 
Gaston. 

'Well,  well,  if  it  ain't  Old  Iron  Trail!"  greeted  an 
old  jack.  "Speak  up,  Lonergan;  talk's  cheap." 

"Not  the  kind  of  talk  I'm  going  to  make,"  retorted 
Lonergan.  "You  know  who  I  am,  don't  you,  boys?" 

"Sure.  He's  the  man  who  grows  railroads.  Spit 
it  out,  old  hoss." 

Lonergan  turned  toward  McKenzie. 

"You  said  there'd  be  no  work  in  this  country  for  a 


The  Power  of  Woman         221 

man  who  bucked  Taggart  too  hard.  You're  wrong. 
That's  just  the  kind  of  man  who'll  be  able  to  find 
work  right  here — as  much  as  he  wants — at  better 
wages  than  Taggart  pays.  In  fact,  I'm  up  here  to  hire 
men.  Next  week  we're  going  to  start  blazing  the  trail 
for  the  line  from  LaCroix  up  here.  I'll  need  axe-men, 
shovellers,  skinners,  drivers,  spikers,  cooks,  water-boys, 
walk  ing-bosses — there'll  be  two  crews.  The  logging's 
over  for  this  season.  How  about  a  steady  job  for 
all  Spring  and  Summer?  And  the  boys  who  get  on 
my  pay  roll  will  be  the  ones  who  help  us  to-night." 

"That  goes!"  cried  McKenzie.     "I  play  with  you." 

Together  with  a  few  of  the  older  men  he  pressed 
forward  toward  Lonergan.  But  the  young  fellows, 
the  bulk  of  the  crew,  stood  still.  The  idea  of  provid- 
ing themselves  with  further  employment  was  farthest 
of  all  from  their  minds  just  then.  The  future  might 
take  care  of  itself;  in  the  meantime,  furious,  thought- 
less excitement  was  what  they  craved.  This  thing  was 
too  orderly,  too  sober  for  them. 

"To with  a  job !"  laughed  one.  "Our  money's 

still  good." 

"But  don't  forget  who  saved  it  for  you,"  shouted 
McKenzie. 

"To  !  We  ain't  playing  police  for  no  man's 

town.  Come  on,  boys;  this  ain't  no  fun." 

"Then  go!"  Gaston's  voice  vibrated  with  anger, 
though  from  the  first  he  had  feared  just  such  a  turn. 
"And  when  we've  won  this  fight  alone  we'll  make  you 
fellows  take  the  tall  timber  on  the  run." 

They  laughed  and  started  for  the  door,  wild  colts 
that  would  not  be  haltered.  And  then  they  stopped. 

"Has  anything  happened;  is  any  one  hurt?" 

Gaston  and  Hale  started  as  one  and  looked  at  each 
other  at  the  sound  of  the  new  voice.  It  was  Rose. 
She  came  running  in ;  and  the  men  made  way  for  her. 


222  Gaston  Olaf 

Inside  the  door  she  paused,  panting,  her  hands  on  her 
breast,  and  looked  around. 

"Oh!"  Her  eyes  fell  on  Gaston,  and  despite  the 
plaster  on  his  face,  she  gave  an  exclamation  of  relief. 
Then  on  Hale,  and  she  grew  quiet.  "I  saw  the  crowd ; 
I  was  afraid  some  one  had  been  hurt.  But — I'm  mis- 
taken?" 

"Nobody  hurt,  Miss  Rose."  Dr.  Sanders  tried  to 
say  it  jauntily,  but  it  was  a  miserable  failure. 

Hale  looked  steadily  at  the  floor ;  Gaston  looked  over 
her  head.  Neither  cared  to  meet  her  inquiring  eyes. 
Nor  did  Lonergan,  or  Tom,  or  the  doctor.  But  the 
lumber-jacks  of  Crew  One  were  staring  at  her  as  at 
a  vision,  and  the  light  of  wickedness  went  out  of  many 
eyes  and  gave  place  to  something  better.  They  looked 
at  her  worshipfully. 

She  was  dressed  in  a  gown  of  soft  whiteness,  and 
her  face  was  alight  with  the  light  of  a  mother-heart, 
stirred  with  alarm.  To  those  rough  boy-men  she  was 
more  than  merely  a  dainty  and  beautiful  girl.  She 
was  the  eternal  dream  woman  which  men  of  their  ilk 
dream  of  and  are  prepared  to  worship. 

Their  caps  came  off  unconsciously.  They  grew 
sober. 

Rose  looked  at  the  serious  faces  of  the  townsmen 
and  tried  in  vain  to  catch  Gaston's  eye. 

"Nobody  hurt  at  all,"  said  he  airily.  "Just  a  little 
meeting." 

"What  is  it?"  she  whispered.  "Is  anything  going — 
to — happen  ?" 

"No,  no!"  he  said. 

"Dick !"  she  cried  to  Hale. 

"No,  no.  Everything's  all  right.  You — you  had 
better  go  home." 

She  looked  around.  She  couldn't  understand. 
There  was  something  behind  the  faces  which  she  had 


The  Power  of  Woman         223 

learned  to  know  so  well.  She  looked  at  Lonergan,  at 
Tom  Pine,  at  Dr.  Sanders.  She  turned  and  looked  at 
the  men  of  Crew  One. 

"Boys !"  she  cried  to  them.  "You'll  tell  me,  I  know 
— is  anything  going  to  happen?" 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  Crew  One  began 
to  smile.  Then  came  the  reply,  bellowed  earnestly 
from  a  huge  pair  of  lungs — from  the  man  who  had 
said,  "This  ain't  no  fun" : 

"Not  by  a  da — t  Excuse  me,  lady.  I  mean,  no, 
sir!  No,  siree,  ma'am;  there  ain't  nothing  going  to 
happen.  No,  by  Godfrey!  Not  enough — not  enough 
to  fry  a  six-inch  trout  at!" 

And  Crew  One  shouted  as  one  man  to  back  him  up. 

"That's  right,  lady,  you  bet  your  bottom  boots !" 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

BATTLE 

G  ASTON,  watching  the  faces  of  the  men,  whis- 
pered sharply  to  Hale: 

"Take  her  home.    Get  her  away  from  here." 

He  would  have  given  much  to  accompany  her  home 
himself,  but  his  place  just  then  was  with  Crew  One. 

Rose's  eyes  grew  soft  at  the  sudden  heart-felt  tribute 
which  had  been  given  her.  She  held  forth  her  hands 
to  them  in  a  gesture  of  fraternity. 

"Thank  you,  boys,  thank  you!"  she  murmured. 
"Yes,  Dick;  I  know.  I'll  go  home." 

They  watched  her  go  out,  watched  her  cap  in  hand, 
watched  till  the  last  glimpse  of  her  was  lost  in  the 
darkness. 

"Well,"  said  Gaston,  "you  discovered  you  were 
white  men,  after  all,  did  you?" 

They  came  swarming  back  to  him.  They  were  eager 
to  make  amends,  eager  to  do  something  ferocious  to 
prove  that  they  meant  what  they  had  said. 

"Say,  Husk,  we  didn't  understand,"  they  shouted. 

They  held  forth  their  hands.  "How  the  could 

we  understand?  You  know  what  kind  of  women  we'd 
been  seeing  in  this  burg.  By  Godfrey!  That's  a  thor- 
oughbred little  lady.  Come  on,  Big  Fellow,  shake 
hands.  We're  all  white  men  together  now.  Now  we 
know  what  you're  standing  up  for,  Thorson.  Lead  the 
way.  We'll  go  to for  you  now." 

"All  right,  boys.  I  knew  you  were  white  men  if  it 
was  put  up  to  you  right."  Gaston  leaned  over  to 

224 


Battle  225 

Lonergan.  "Lonergan,  take  all  your  men  who've  got 
guns  and  scatter  them  in  a  straight  line  across  the 
town  right  here.  You've  enough  that  nobody  can  slip 
through  without  being  seen.  If  any  Taggart  man  gets 
through,  fire  a  shot.  They  may  go  into  the  timber  and 
try  to  sneak  in  and  fire  her  from  behind.  When  Hale 
comes  back  better  have  him  and  a  couple  others  keep 
moving  through  this  end  of  town  on  the  lookout.  Bet- 
ter go  at  once." 

"Right.     Come  on,  boys." 

Lonergan  led  the  posse  of  citizens  out  into  the  night. 
Tom  Pine  remained  behind. 

"All  right,  Tom,"  said  Gaston.  "Put  your  rifle 
down.  You  can  go  with  us.  Now,  boys,  a  couple  of 
you  slip  down  and  see  if  the  gang  is  bunched  up  any 
place." 

Two  youngsters  ran  out  eagerly.  They  were  back 
in  ten  minutes,  their  number  increased  to  a  dozen  by 
members  of  Crew  One  whom  they  had  picked  up. 

"They're  just  leaving  McCarthy's  place,"  was  the 
report.  "They're  coming  this  way." 

"Fine!"  cried  Gaston.  "Boys,  I  promised  you  a 
fight.  Roll  up  your  sleeves  and  spit  on  your  hands. 
We've  got  to  clean  up  that  gang  to-night,  and  the 
way  to  lick  a  man  is  to  get  right  at  him." 

In  two  great  leaps  he  was  at  the  door. 

"Can  we  handle  'em?"  he  cried. 

"Let  us  at 'em!" 

"Then  come  a- running!"  yelled  Gaston,  and  on  the 
dead  run  he  led  his  men  out  of  the  store,  and  straight 
at  the  black  mass  which  was  coming  up  the  street. 

Taggart's  gang  stopped  suddenly  at  the  line  which 
Gaston  had  drawn  across  the  street.  They  stopped  in 
surprise. 

They  had  come  on  Taggart's  orders,  expecting  to 


226  Gaston  Olaf 

find  a  dozen  townsmen  in  Hale's  store.  Half  a  dozen 
carried  shot-guns.  Their  plan  was  to  trap  the  men  in 
the  store,  hold  them  helpless  at  gun-muzzles  and  fire 
the  town  at  their  leisure.  They  had  even  come  pre- 
pared to  shoot  and  shoot  quickly  at  any  movement  of 
weapons  on  the  part  of  their  opponents. 

But  what  they  found  was  considerably  different 
from  what  they  had  expected. 

Down  the  street  at  them  came  hurtling  a  crowd  of 
yelling  men  as  large  as  their  own.  With  Gaston  at 
their  head,  with  their  biggest  men  at  his  sides,  Crew 
One  just  then  was  terrible  to  behold. 

Gaston  had  thrown  off  all  self-restraint.  For  the 
time  he  had  gone  berserk,  throwing  himself  headlong 
at  the  enemy,  thinking  not  and  caring  not  that  they 
might  be  armed,  eager  only  to  come  to  grips,  confident 
that  nothing  could  stop  his  rush. 

His  fury  had  communicated  itself  to  his  followers. 
Thoughts  of  danger,  impulses  of  fear,  were  for  the 
time  being  non-existent  for  them.  Shot-guns,  eh  ?  All 
right ;  a  few  of  them  might  go  down ;  but  they  would 
follow  the  big  fellow  through  that  crowd  and  back 
again,  trampling  the  guts  out  of  'em,  if  they  never  did 
anything  else  in  the  world. 

The  gun  men  hesitated.  Their  only  chance  was  to 
have  shot  instantly,  without  hesitation,  as  at  a  leaping 
lynx.  Ere  they  could  think  they  were  lost. 

Gaston  knocked  up  the  first  gun  and  struck  the  gang 
like  a  maddened  bull,  his  men  at  his  side.  In  a  flash 
the  gun  men  were  down,  their  weapons  gone. 

"Fight! you,  fight!" 

Taggart's  voice  rose  from  the  rear,  the  roar  of  a 
drunken  animal. 

"Fight, you,  fight !"  echoed  Gaston  mockingly. 

The  gang  stiffened  at  Taggart's  command.  The 
two  sides  met  with  a  thud.  Groans  followed;  curses 


Battle  227 

and  screams  drowned  the  sound  of  blows.  Over  it 
all  rose  Gaston's  laughter. 

"Come  on,  boys — right  through  'em!  We'll  get 
Devil  Dave  himself." 

A  few  knives  flashed  among  the  gangsters.  The 
glint  of  steel  drove  the  lumber-jacks  mad.  They  were 
not  to  be  stopped.  For  a  minute,  possibly,  Taggart's 
men  held.  Then  with  a  shout  Gaston  broke  through 
with  a  dozen  men ;  and  the  fight  was  won. 

"Clean  'em !    Hold  'em,  boys !    Don't  let  'em  run !" 

Crew  One  was  just  beginning  to  fight.  Gaston  and 
his  dozen  saw  that  Taggart  had  disappeared,  and  threw 
themselves  back  on  the  gang. 

"That's  the  stuff,  boys.    Don't  let  'em  run." 

But  the  gang,  suddenly  feeling  itself  surrounded, 
broke  away.  They  began  to  run  to  both  sides  of  the 
street. 

"Don't  let  'em  get  away !"  rose  the  cry.  "They  used 
knives.  Hold  'em  back." 

The  fight  became  a  rout.  The  gangsters  ran  in  all 
directions.  After  them  went  the  lumber-jacks. 

The  battle  spread  to  the  timber  on  either  side  of 
town.  It  raged  steadily  down  toward  the  red-lights. 
It  swept  into  the  saloons  and  out  again.  Gaston  led 
wherever  a  group  of  the  gangsters  made  a  stand.  In 
his  hand  he  carried  as  a  bludgeon  the  barrels  of  a  shot- 
gun— the  stock  he  had  smashed  on  a  gun-man's  head 
— and  at  the  sight  of  him  the  gangsters  turned  and 
ran. 

"Shoot  him,  shoot  that !"  they  cried. 

But  nobody  found  time  to  shoot.  It  was  a  rush 
that  would  not  be  stayed.  The  den-keepers  hastily 
locked  and  barred  their  doors  and  Taggart's  men 
found  hiding-places  denied  them.  Down  through  the 
river-front  swept  the  pursuit.  It  ended  at  the  dark- 
ness along  the  river,  and  Gaston  and  his  men  paused 


228  Gaston  Olaf 

and  drew  breath.  There  was  no  one  left  for  them 
to  fight. 

"Hoop-la!"  The  lumber-jacks  danced  jigs  and 
shouted.  "Bring  on  your  tigers;  we  eat  'em  alive." 

His  face  alight  with  triumph,  Gaston  turned  to  look 
back.  His  jaw  fell  in  horror. 

"Good  God,  boys!  Look!  They've  done  it  after 
all." 

Up  the  street,  in  the  upper  part  of  town,  a  sweep 
of  flame  was  rushing  toward  the  sky.  In  the  mad- 
ness of  the  fight  no  man  of  them  had  turned  to  note 
what  was  going  on  behind  them.  Now  the  whole  set- 
tlement was  lurid  under  the  rapidly  rising  wall  of 
flame,  and  the  roar  and  crackle  of  it  reached  even 
down  to  the  river. 

"Good  God!  That  must  be  Hale's  store."  Gaston's 
voice  was  a  hoarse  whisper.  "And  if  it  is  the  whole 
street'll  go." 

He  started  back  toward  the  flames  on  a  run,  fol- 
lowed by  his  men. 

It  was  not  Hale's  store  that  was  burning,  but  the 
building  next  to  it.  This  was  used  as  a  livery-barn, 
and  stood  wall  to  wall  with  Hale's  building.  The  barn 
already  was  a  furnace,  too  hot  to  approach.  From 
its  dry  shingle  roof  flakes  of  flame  were  flying  about. 

Thus  far  Hale's  building,  larger  and  higher  than  the 
barn,  was  serving  as  a  bulwark,  shielding  the  rest  of 
the  settlement  from  the  flying  embers.  If  the  store 
went  the  way  of  the  barn,  it  would  fire  the  rest  of 
the  street.  Olson's  Hotel,  with  tar  paper  on  the  walls, 
stood  directly  across  the  street  from  it ;  Dr.  Sanders's 
little  office  was  at  its  side. 

From  these  points  the  flames  could  reach  out  and 
touch  the  other  buildings,  each  of  which,  built  of  pine 
and  tinder-dry,  was  like  kindling  awaiting  the  match. 
Nothing  is  as  helpless  as  a  new  woods-town  when  a 


Battle  229 

fire  starts  in  dry  weather.  Usually  there  is  but  one 
thing  to  do — move  out  and  watch  it  burn. 

Dr.  Sanders  was  bending  over  a  man  of  Crew  One 
who  lay  in  the  street  when  Gaston  arrived  before  the 
burning  building. 

"Well,  Big  Fellow,  Taggart  stole  a  march  when  you 
were  rushing  his  gang,"  he  greeted.  "He  and  Indian 
Charley  sneaked  around  back  of  the  barn  at  the  height 
of  the  melee.  Had  a  can  of  oil  and  threw  it  on  the 
hay.  This  boy  here  saw  'em  and  jumped  'em  just 
as  Taggart  struck  a  match.  They  didn't  quite  kill  him, 
but  the  Indian  gave  him  a  little  steel  between  the  ribs 
all  right.  The  barn  was  one  flame  in  two  minutes." 

Under  Hale's  direction  men  were  carrying  cases  of 
dynamite  from  the  store  to  a  safe  place  in  the  woods. 
Other  men  were  salvaging  the  stock  while  some  were 
climbing  to  the  roof  to  beat  out  the  flames  as  they 
fell.  The  heat  from  the  burning  barn  prevented  any 
attempt  at  working  on  it. 

Hale  came  out  and  sized  up  the  situation  carefully. 

"We've  got  to  start  a  water  line,"  shouted  Gaston. 
"If  we  get  buckets  enough  we  can  wet  your  building 
down  and  save  it." 

Hale  suddenly  looked  up  at  his  roof.  He  shook  his 
head. 

"Can't  do  it,"  he  said.    "Look." 

The  roof  and  the  side  wall  nearest  the  barn  had 
caught.  The  shingles  were  beginning  to  burn,  and 
dabs  of  flame  began  to  fall  from  them. 

"Ladders!  Get  some  ladders!"  cried  Gaston.  "It 
isn't  too  late  yet.  We've  got  men  enough  here  to 
save  her." 

A  burning  shingle,  spewed  upward  by  the  force  of 
the  flames,  floated  through  the  darkness  above  them 
and  landed  gracefully  on  the  stoop  of  Olson's  Hotel. 

"You  see?    Too  late,"  said  Hale.    He  looked  long 


230  Gaston  Olaf 

at  the  big,  stanch  building  in  which  was  a  good  share 
of  all  he  possessed,  and  once  more  shook  his  head. 
"We  haven't  even  got  time  to  get  the  stock  out.  Bill," 
he  called  quietly  to  one  of  his  men,  "go  out  and  bring 
back  one  case  of  the  dynamite,  will  you?" 

"Man!"  cried  Gaston.  "Don't  do  that  yet.  Let's 
try  first " 

A  second  flaming  shingle  Bailed  high  over  the  street, 
dropped,  and  was  stamped  out  beside  the  papered  wall 
of  the  hotel. 

"I  wouldn't  have  those  poor  women  burned  out  just 
to  try  to  save  my  store,  Thorson.  What  do  you  think 
would  happen  if  my  roof  began  to  flame?" 

Gaston  made  no  reply. 

"It's  the  only  thing  to  do,"  said  Hale.  "Don't  you 
see  it  is  ?" 

Gaston  bowed  his  head  silently.  The  man  had  re- 
turned, bearing  a  heavy  box  of  explosive. 

"Clear  out,  boys,"  cried  Hale.  "Get  away  out  of 
danger.  We've  got  to  blow  her  up." 

A  groan  and  a  sigh  of  relief  came  from  the  crowd. 
They  regretted  the  destruction  of  the  building  and 
yet  they  realised  that  by  it  the  town  would  be  saved. 

"Fill  up  your  buckets.  Scatter  yourselves  around 
ready  to  put  out  flying  brands.  And  get  out  of  the 
way  when  the  shot  comes." 

The  crowd  drew  back  until  Hale,  Gaston  and  Tom 
Pine  were  alone  before  the  burning  building. 

"All  right;  no  use  delaying  it,"  said  Hale,  and  the 
three  men  moved  to  their  work. 

Gaston  and  Tom  Pine  salvaged  stock  after  the 
charges  had  been  laid  and  the  fuses  lighted.  At  the 
last  moment  they  rushed  out  with  armfuls  of  goods  to 
join  Hale,  who  had  sought  shelter  behind  the  hotel. 

"There  she  goes !"  groaned  Tom  Pine  as  the  build- 
ing rose  in  the  air  at  the  explosion. 


Battle  231 

Gaston  vented  a  curse  from  the  bottom  of  his  chest. 
The  store  had  fallen  together  like  a  house  of  cards. 
The  barn  fell  with  it,  and  there  remained  of  it  only  a 
low  pile  of  jumbled  lumber,  which  burned  without 
offering  any  danger  to  the  other  buildings  of  the  town. 

Hale  wiped  his  lips  with  his  fingers. 

"Well,"  he  said  steadily,  "we  did  a  good  job  of 
that." 

A  small  form  in  white  came  running  toward  them. 
It  was  Rose. 

"Oh,  Dick!    Your  store — how  did  it  happen?" 

"There  was  dynamite  in  it — it  just  blew  up,"  re- 
plied Hale. 

Her  eyes  fell  on  Gaston.  Even  in  the  half-darkness 
he  saw  the  light  that  leapt  into  them,  but  he  looked 
away,  as  if  it  was  something  he  had  no  right  to  see. 

"Oh,  Gaston !    I've  heard  how  you  saved  us " 

"Don't,"  he  cried  hoarsely.  "There's  the  man  who 
did  it — Hale.  His  store  didn't  just  blow  up.  He  blew 
it  up  himself,  when  there  might  have  been  a  chance  to 
save  it,  because  he  was  too  big  a  man  to  risk  others' 
property  to  save  his  own." 

And  he  hurried  back  to  where  men  with  buckets 
were  splashing  the  fringes  of  the  dying  fire. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

GASTON   BUYS    STORE   CLOTHES 

OF  all  the  wild  nights  that  Havens  Falls  had 
known,  that  was  the  wildest.  For  when  Crew 
One  calmed  down  sufficient  to  count  noses,  it  found 
that  three  more  of  its  members  had  suffered  knife- 
wounds  fully  as  serious  as  those  of  the  man  who  had 
tried  to  prevent  Taggart  from  firing  the  barn. 

Only  one  result  could  follow  this  discovery.  The 
lumber-jacks  went  on  the  warpath  for  revenge.  Noth- 
ing could  stop  them.  Gaston  knew  the  breed  too  well 
to  try.  Before  the  fire  had  burned  down  to  embers 
they  were  back  in  the  river  front,  red-eyed  with  hate 
and  fury,  roaring  their  intentions  to  revenge  the  boys 
who  had  been  stabbed. 

"Where's  Devil  Dave  ?  Where's  that Indian  ?" 

they  demanded.  "We'll  show  'em  it's  dangerous  to 
knife  boys  from  Camp  One." 

Naturally,  neither  Taggart  nor  the  Indian  was  to 
be  found.  The  jacks  began  hunting  for  other  victims. 
These,  likewise,  were  hard  to  find. 

Most  of  the  gang  had  gone  into  hiding.  Such  as 
had  the  hardihood  to  remain  in  the  saloons  also  had 
the  cunning  to  conceal  the  fact  that  they  had  taken 
any  share  in  the  struggle.  At  rare  intervals  one  of 
them  was  recognised,  then  there  was  a  beating  and  a 
scurry,  and  only  the  strength  of  arm  of  the  cooler 
men  prevented  a  lynching. 

Soon  the  river-front  was  cleared  of  every  one  who 
might  be  considered  a  fair  object  for  vengeance.  The 

232 


Gaston  Buys  Store  Clothes      233 

tension  lessened.  Men  began  to  laugh  and  slap  one 
another  on  the  back.  The  fighting  was  over;  now  to 
celebrate  it.  Crew  One  rushed  up  to  the  bars  and  set 
in  to  get  truly  good  and  drunk. 

A  few  of  the  older  men,  McKenzie  leading  them, 
held  back.  They  even  sought  to  urge  moderation  upon 
the  others.  As  well  seek  to  whistle  down  a  storm. 
McKenzie  and  his  kind,  seeing  the  uselessness  of  re- 
monstrance, went  up  to  the  hotel  and  went  to  bed, 
while  the  victorious  lumber- jacks,  freed  of  all  restraint, 
proceeded  to  make  the  night  terrible.  They  drank  like 
madmen ;  they  howled  like  the  bob-cats  and  wolves  of 
the  forest,  and  they  danced. 

Gradually  these  effervescences  ceased.  The  dancing 
and  shouting  ceased;  the  affair  degenerated  into  a 
frightful  drinking  contest.  They  did  not  move  from 
the  bars.  Standing  stiffly,  leaning  lazily,  or  hanging 
on  with  both  hands,  they  stayed  by  the  rude  counters, 
drinking  as  often  as  a  glass  was  set  before  them. 
Presently  the  weaker  ones  began  to  fall  away;  the 
floor  became  littered  with  them ;  they  lay  outside  sleep- 
ing. The  terrible  liquor  of  the  river-front  laid  most 
of  them  low,  but  when  daylight  appeared  it  found  a 
few,  stiff-eyed  and  sleepy,  hanging  on  to  a  bar  with 
one  hand  while  with  the  other  they  carried  liquor  to 
their  already  burnt-out  throats. 

In  the  upper  part  of  town  there  was  peace  and  quiet, 
though  few  slept.  Gaston  organised  the  men  in 
watches,  and  himself  kept  circling  the  town  all  night. 
With  the  woods  full  of  gangsters  there  was  constant 
danger  that  one  of  them  would  attempt  to  sneak  forth 
and  start  a  new  fire.  It  was  even  possible  that  Tag- 
gart  might  round  them  up  and  make  another  rush. 

When  daylight  appeared  it  found  Gaston  swinging 
briskly  around  on  the  patrol  which  had  occupied  him 
throughout  the  night.  A  feeling  of  bitterness  and  de- 


234  Gaston  Olaf 

feat  came  to  him  as  the  rising  sun  revealed  the  smok- 
ing ruins  of  Hale's  store  and  the  barn. 

The  charred  timbers  seemed  to  grin  at  him,  remind- 
ing him  that,  in  spite  of  the  overwhelming  support  of 
Crew  One,  Taggart  had  managed  to  make  good  a  small 
part  of  his  threat. 

"I  broke  up  the  gang,  but  I  didn't  get  the  old  man," 
mused  Gaston.  "Devil  Dave  is  still  fighting,  and 
there'll  be  more  of  this  to  come." 

The  store  was  a  total  loss.  Of  the  large,  diversified 
stock  which  had  filled  it,  a  scant  tenth,  possibly,  had 
been  saved.  As  Gaston  contemplated  what  was  left,  he 
forgot  Taggart  and  a  thrill  ran  through  him  at  the 
memory  of  Hale's  splendid  action  in  the  crisis. 

"He's  a  man,"  he  said  aloud.  "Yep;  he's  a  real 
man." 

He  laughed  swiftly  as  he  considered  how  Taggart's 
coup  had  failed,  after  all. 

"Taggart  set  out  to  hurt  Hale  by  burning  him  out. 
He  burned  his  store,  all  right,  but  he  didn't  hurt  him. 
Not  much !  He  gave  him  a  chance  to  show  what  was 
in  him.  And  he's  such  a  quiet,  modest  little  fellow 
you'd  never  suspect  him  of  being  that  big  unless  he 
had  a  chance  like  this.  Now  he's  had  his  chance. 
Everybody  knows  what  he's  made  of.  People'll  be 
talking  of  this  for  years  to  come.  They'll  look  up  to 
Hale,  and  he  deserves  it.  He'll  be  one  of  the  biggest 
men  around  here,  which  he  is.  Ha!  And  Taggart 
gave  him  his  chance.  The  laugh's  on  Taggart,  after 
all." 

Thus  mused  Gaston  as,  in  the  first  rays  of  the  rising 
sun,  he  marched  up  and  down  the  street.  He  had  seen 
a  fellow-man  put  to  the  test  and  meet  the  test  in  glori- 
ous fashion,  and  he  was  glowing  with  apprecia- 
tion. 

His  own  actions  of  the  night  he  sincerely  consid- 


Gaston  Buys  Store  Clothes      235 

ered  as  nothing  in  comparison.  He  had  merely  led 
in  a  terrific  fight,  and  he  was  one  of  those  who  begin 
to  hear  sweet  music  instead  of  the  voice  of  fear  at 
the  approach  of  trouble.  He  considered  that  he  de- 
served no  credit.  Had  he  been  completely  successful 
against  Taggart  he  might  have  been  inclined  to  strut 
a  little.  But  he  had  not  been  that,  quite.  The  black- 
ened timbers  were  reminders  that  Taggart  was  not 
defeated. 

"And  there'll  be  no  end  of  this  trouble  till  the  old 
man  himself  is  licked." 

His  march  had  led  him  to  beyond  the  post-office  at 
this  moment.  He  stopped  and  looked  around. 

The  rays  of  the  morning  sun,  topping  the  eastern 
hills,  was  lighting  up  the  front  of  the  Havens  home, 
directly  before  him.  Gaston  smiled.  The  house  was 
very  pretty  to  his  eyes  in  the  morning  light.  Appar- 
ently its  occupants  were  sleeping  soundly.  He  thought 
of  Rose  as  he  had  left  her  with  Hale  last  night,  and 
he  was  glad  he  had  left  them  and  had  told  the  truth 
about  Hale's  store.  The  better  man  must  win.  It 
must  be  a  fair  game.  If  Hale  was  the  man  for  her, 
all  right. 

He  recalled  the  look  she  had  given  him.  Her  face, 
upturned  to  him,  seemed  to  be  before  him.  He  grew 
thoughtful.  Gould  he  make  her  happy,  a  woman  like 
her?  Was  he  the  man  for  her? 

He  looked  down  at  himself  and  felt  abashed.  His 
shirt  was  torn  into  strips,  and  through  openings  were 
to  be  seen  cuts  and  bruises.  He  looked  at  his  hands ; 
his  knuckles  were  raw,  and  his  right  thumb  was 
swollen  and  discoloured.  There  was  blood  on  his 
red  sash  and  buckskin  trousers.  No;  he  was  scarcely 
the  sort  of  specimen  to  go  wooing  a  girl  like  Rose. 

Gaston  waited  until  smoke  began  to  appear  from 
chimneys  and  the  town  began  to  stir.  Then  he  went 


236  Gaston  Olaf 

to  the  house  of  the  owner  of  the  settlement's  clothing 
store  and  dragged  him  forth. 

"Hello!"  cried  the  man.  "Just  in  time  for  break- 
fast." 

"Thanks.  Don't  want  any  breakfast,"  retorted 
Gaston.  "Come  with  me  to  your  store.  I  want  a 
new  outfit." 

"Something  like  what  you've  got  on,  I  s'pose?" 
said  the  merchant,  when  they  reached  the  store. 

"No,  siree,  pop!"  was  the  emphatic  reply.  "Noth- 
ing at  all  like  what  I've  got  on.  I  want — I  want 
some  regular  store  clothes." 

There  was  difficulty  in  fitting  him.  His  huge  shoul- 
ders cracked  wide  open  the  first  coat  he  tried  on.  At 
last  an  outfit  was  assembled.  He  also  purchased  a 
shaving  equipment  and  towels. 

"Now  you'll  come  back  and  have  breakfast  with 
us?"  insisted  the  storekeeper. 

Gaston  excused  himself.  He  had  something  else  to 
do. 

With  his  new  clothing  under  his  arm,  he  slipped 
out  of  town  and  went  down  the  river  till  he  found  a 
deep,  clear  pool.  The  sun  was  tinting  the  stream,  and 
in  the  pool  the  water  was  like  a  mirror.  Kneeling  on 
the  bank,  Gaston  leaned  over  and  studied  his  reflection 
in  the  water.  He  grinned  at  what  he  saw. 

"You  certainly  are  hard-looking  this  morning,  boy," 
he  chuckled,  "but  so  long  as  you  didn't  get  your  eyes 
blacked  you  can  fix  yourself  up." 

With  the  pool  as  his  mirror  he  shaved  carefully. 
Next  he  stripped  and  stood  poised  for  an  instant  in 
the  sunlight,  a  figure  for  a  sculptor  to  marvel  at. 

Into  the  ice-cold  water  he  dove  with  scarcely  a 
splash,  and  when  he  came  leaping  out  to  rub  himself 
down  he  was  rosy.  He  dressed  himself  in  new  ap- 
parel from  feet  to  head  and  stretched  himself  gin- 


Gaston  Buys  Store  Clothes      237 

gerly,  feeling  cramped  and  confined  at  every  joint. 

He  was  now  arrayed  in  a  sober  suit  of  blue,  a  soft, 
white  shirt  with  a  loose  collar,  solid  leather  shoes,  and 
a  soft,  black  hat.  The  coat  pinched  him  under  the 
arms  and,  rubbers  and  moccasins  being  his  accustomed 
footwear,  the  shoes  felt  stiff  and  heavy  on  his  feet. 

With  a  sigh  he  tossed  his  old,  torn  shirt  out  into 
the  current  and  watched  it  float  down-stream.  The 
buckskin  trousers,  sash,  cap  and  rubber  "high-tops" 
were  about  to  follow,  but  he  checked  himself.  When 
he  presented  himself  at  the  room  which  he  and  Tom 
had  taken  at  the  hotel,  these  articles  were  under  his 
arm. 

Tom  looked  up  at  his  entrance  and  laughed  up- 
roariously. 

"What  in  Sam  Hill,  Gaston  Olaf?  You — you  got 
religion?" 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Gaston,  tossing  his  old  clothes  into 
a  corner;  "I  just  wanted  to  find  out  how  town-clothes 
feel." 

"Well,  how  about  it;  how  do  they  feel?" 

"Oh,"  with  a  tug  at  his  collar,  "I  suppose  a  man 
can  get  used  to  anything." 


CHAPTER    XXXV 


AFTER  the  turbulent  Saturday  night,  Sunday  came 
quiet  and  peaceful,  the  calm  succeeding  the  storm. 
It  was  the  first  orderly  Sunday  in  the  history  of  Ha- 
vens Falls.  True,  a  few  of  the  celebrating  lumber- 
jacks upon  awakening  sought  the  bars  and  attempted 
to  resuscitate  the  corpse  of  last  night's  orgy,  but  the 
attempt  fell  flat. 

Most  of  the  men,  in  their  own  words,  had  "got 
enough  to  last."  Some  staggered  up  to  the  hotel  to 
sleep  off  the  ravages  of  their  celebration ;  others  sought 
shelter  in  the  woods  for  the  same  purpose. 

A  pall  hung  over  the  river-front.  The  bars  were 
nearly  deserted.  Where  a  group  was  assembled  there 
was  no  noise.  Something  new  had  come  to  the  Settle- 
ment which  made  itself  felt  even  in  the  foulest 
corner  of  the  worst  den  in  the  front — law  and  order, 
civilisation. 

In  a  vague,  stupid  sort  of  way  the  gangsters  real- 
ised the  coming  of  these  new  forces.  That  crude  line, 
drawn  by  Gaston's  foot  across  the  street,  was  like  a 
wall  unto  them.  They  scowled  and  cursed,  but  they 
made  no  more  ebullient  statements  that  the  town  was 
theirs,  to  do  with  as  they  pleased.  They  had  read 
the  writing  on  the  wall  and  were  troubled. 

Taggart  and  Indian  Charley  had  disappeared  imme- 
diately after  firing  the  barn. 

"He  looked  like  he  needed  a  sleep,"  dmckled  Tom 

238 


A  Quiet  Sunday  239 

Pine.  "When  he's  slept  the  liquor  out  of  his  head 
he'll  probably  come  back." 

"Yes,"  said  Gaston,  "he'll  come  back  sure." 

For  the  present,  however,  there  was  nothing  to  cast 
a  shadow  over  Havens  Falls.  The  day  was  a  warm, 
sunny  day  in  Spring;  the  world  was  covered  with  new 
green  things ;  hundreds  of  birds  sang  in  the  trees ;  and 
it  was  Sunday. 

True,  there  were  the  ruins  of  Hale's  store  and  the 
barn  to  remind  of  what  had  taken  place  the  night  be- 
fore. But  Havens  Falls  was  young,  and  recovered 
rapidly,  and  by  noon  those  same  ruins  were  things  to 
joke  over  while  wondering  if  the  trout  wouldn't  soon 
begin  biting.  There  were  picnic  parties  up  on  the  big 
hill,  and  rowing  parties  up  the  river. 

Dr.  Sanders  and  Hulda  paddled  down-stream  in  a 
birch-bark  canoe.  When  they  returned,  Hulda  had 
promised  that  if  he  would  stop  drinking  so  much 
whisky  she  would  marry  him  as  soon  as  they  could 
get  a  house.  It  was  Hale's  canoe  that  they  paddled 
in.  Hale  had  no  time  to  go  canoeing  that  Sunday. 
He  and  Lonergan  were  busy  hiring  men  and  planning 
to  build  up  a  new  store. 

In  the  middle  of  the  bright  afternoon  Gaston  gave 
way  to  the  desire  that  had  tugged  at  his  heart  all 
morning,  and  sought  out  Rose.  He  found  her  start- 
ing up  the  hill  toward  the  picnic  party,  and  she  stood 
stock  still  and  marvelled  at  the  change  in  his  attire. 

^Well,"  he  laughed,  "do  I  look  civilised?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  seriously,  and  paused. 

"Even  if  I  don't  act  that  way,  yet  ?"  he  suggested. 

"No.  I  wasn't  going  to  say  that,"  was  her  grave 
reply.  "I  have  heard  the  men  talking  about  you. 
They  say  that  the  only  reason  why  you  were  able  to 
save  the  town  was  that — that  you  had  acted  so — so 
daringly " 


240  Gaston  Olaf 

"Recklessly!"  he  interposed. 

"Early  in  the  evening.  It  isn't  for  me  to  judge  you. 
Naturally  I  thought  it  was  strange  for  you  to  do  such 
a  thing  immediately  after  you  had  promised  me  that 
you'd  be  careful.  But  men  say  it  was  fine  and  big — 
your  fighting;  that  you  are  a  great  man.  I  suppose 
you  are  a  judge  of  what  was  necessary  to  save  the 
town.  You  did  save  us,  anyHow,  I  know,"  she  con- 
cluded, "and — and  you  do  look  civilised  now." 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  he  said  gravely.  "I  want  to 
be  civilised.  I  want  to  settle  down.  But  men  are 
wrong  when  they  say  that  fighting  was  fine  and  big. 
.It  wasn't.  It  was  fool  recklessness.  It  turned  out 
lucky,  though,  for  the  town,  and  the  people,  and 
everything  about  it,  and  I'm  glad  of  that." 

They  were  half-way  up  the  ridge  now,  and  they 
stopped  and  looked  back.  Below  them  the  town  and 
its  environs  lay  like  a  green  map.  There  lay  the  set- 
tlement on  its  flat  in  the  river  bend,  a  peerless  town-site. 
Through  it  curved  the  rushing  La  Croix,  lending  viril- 
ity and  force  to  the  scene. 

On  all  hands  stretched  the  fat  farming  land,  wait- 
ing only  the  plough  of  the  breaker.  The  birch  gleamed 
white  through  the  green  note  of  Spring.  It  was  a  good 
country;  it  fairly  smiled  in  the  warm  afternoon  sun- 
light. 

"Look  at  it!"  cried  Gaston,  his  out-door  senses 
thrilled  by  the  scene.  "Isn't  it  enough  to  make  a  man 
want  to  throw  off  his  coat  and  dig  in  to  help  make  it 
fit  for  folks  to  live  in?  Look  at  that  flat  along  the 
river — miles  and  miles  of  it !  Think  of  what  a  lot  of 
young  couples  can  find  homes  and  farms  on  that! 
Look  at  the  power  in  that  river !  Can't  you  see  mills 
and  wood- factories  along  it? 

"And  there's  the  little  town.  When  I  look  at  it, 
I  don't  see  those  little  shacks  down  there;  I  see  a 


A  Quiet  Sunday  241 

street  with  brick  buildings — stores,  banks,  everything, 
and  churches,  and  schools,  and  fine  homes.  Down 
there's  where  the  depot  will  be,  and  the  trains'll  come 
swinging  around  that  hog-yard  back  yonder.  And 
preachers,  and  school-teachers,  and  all  those  kind  of 
people,  will  come  riding  in  on  the  train,  and  the  folks 
who  marry  will  have  a  chance  to  educate  their  kids 
right  here.  It's  a  dream,  I  know,  but  this  dream  cer- 
tainly is  coming  true." 

She  cried  out,  clapping  her  hands  in  delight  at  the 
picture  he  had  drawn. 

"Oh,  Gaston!    To  think  there's  all  that  in  you!" 

He  turned  to  her  swiftly,  a  hungry  look  at  the  cor- 
ners of  his  mouth. 

"Rose — Rose,  there's  many  sorts  of  things  in  me. 
More  than  I  know  myself,  perhaps.  Most  of  what's 
come  out  so  far  has  been  the  rough,  wild  part " 

"No,  sir !  Don't  you  say  that.  I  owe  you  too  much 
to  permit  it.  It's  been  fine — much  of  it." 

"Well,  if  there  is  anything  fine  in  me,  and  if  it  has 
shown,  it's  been  because  of " 

He  checked  himself  suddenly.  He  looked  away,  out 
over  the  town. 

"Rose,"  he  resumed  quietly,  "every  man — every 
white  man — wants  the  fine  in  him  to  come  out,  if  it's 
in  him.  I  want  it.  I  don't  know  whether  it's  there  or 
not.  Sometimes  I'm  afraid  it's  not.  A  man  will  be 
what  his  nature  makes  him.  But — Rose,"  he  broke 
off  suddenly,  "are  you  engaged  to  Hale?" 

"No."  She  was  cruelly  agitated.  "He  is  my  best 
friend." 

"He's  a  brick!    But — nothing  else?" 

"No." 

He  tore  the  top  off  a  pine-bush  and  crushed  it  in 
his  hands. 


242  Gaston  Olaf 

"Rose,  tell  me  honestly,"  he  pleaded  frankly,  "what 
do  you  think  of  me  ?" 

"What  do  I — think  of  you?"  She  grasped  his  arm, 
drawing  him  around  so  he  must  meet  her  eyes.  "How 
can  you  ask  me  that,  when  you've  done  what  you 
have  for  me?" 

"No,  no !    Not  that.    You  know  what  I  mean." 

Slowly  she  let  go  of  his  arm,  and  slowly  her  eyes 
went  to  the  ground. 

"Oh,  Gaston,  Gaston !"  she  stammered.  "You  charm 
me,  you  thrill  me.  You  seem  to  warm  me  and  waken 
me  when  you  come  near  me,  like  the  morning  sun,  or 
like  a  fresh  south  wind  in  Spring.  Yes,  you're  like 
that.  Your  smile  is  like  the  sun  to  me,  really.  There's 
something  in  me  that  leaps  up  and  makes  me  want  to 
— to  go  to  you.  But  there's  something  about  you  that 
— that  frightens  me,  too.  I  don't  know  what  it  is. 
Oh,  please,  please,  let's  go  on  up  to  the  others." 

"You  bet,"  he  said,  and  promptly  began  to  help 
her  up  the  hill  toward  the  picnic  party.  "But — have 
I  got  a  chance?" 

She  did  not  reply.  Her  eyes  rose  and  met  his  and 
fell  again.  And  he  knew  that  he  could  win  her ;  that 
if  he  persisted  she  would  come  to  love  him;  that  he 
could  make  her  his  own. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI 

SETTLING  DOWN 

FROM  that  moment  he  gravely  set  to  work  to  make 
himself  fit  to  have  the  right  to  claim  her.  He 
realised  that  he  had  a  difficult  task  before  him.  There 
was  Hale,  and  Hale  was  in  love  with  her,  and  would 
make  her  the  kind  of  husband  she  deserved. 

She  would  marry  Hale,  Gaston  knew,  if  it  were  not 
for  himself.  And  she  would  be  happy  with  Hale,  too. 
So  he  had  no  right  to  think  of  winning  her  unless 
he  could  make  sure  that  he  would  be  as  good  a  hus- 
hand  as  Hale.  That  was  his  task  now :  to  be  the  kind 
of  a  man  who  was  fit  to  marry  Rose  Havens.  It 
would  be  a  hard  pull;  but  he  had  done  many  hard 
things,  and  his  confidence  in  himself  was  unbounded. 
So  he  set  to  work. 

His  first  move  was  to  call  on  Jack  McCarthy  in 
the  latter's  place  that  evening.  He  had  selected  Mc- 
Carthy as  the  strong  man  of  the  river- front.  McCar- 
thy greeted  him  quietly  and  thrust  forth  a  bottle  and 
two  glasses.  Gaston  pushed  them  back. 

"I'll  have  a  little  water,  Jack." 

Without  a  word  McCarthy  filled  two  glasses  with 
water. 

"Here's  how,"  said  he.     "Now— shoot." 

"For  a  start,"  began  Gaston,  "you  know  I've  got 
no  hard  feelings  against  you.  You're  in  this  business, 
and  that's  all  right.  But  I've  been  elected  to  keep  order 
in  this  town,  and  that's  my  business.  You're  the 

243 


244  Gaston  Olaf 

leader  down  here,  and  that's  why  I'hi  talking  to  you. 
The  wild  days  are  over  in  this  town.  Pin  that  up 
over  your  register  and  remember  it.  This  gang  down 
here  doesn't  run  Havens  Falls  any  longer.  We've  got 
the  whip-hand  up  in  the  other  end  of  town,  and  we've 
decided  to  make  the  place  decent.  We  aren't  going 
to  interfere  with  you  unless  you  interfere  with  us. 
There's  a  line  up  there  in  the  street.  You  fellows 
keep  this  side  of  it! 

"Don't  think  I'm  just  talking.  It's  serious.  You 
fellows  might  tear  loose  and  lick  us  once.  But  we're 
here  to  stay.  You  can  pass  the  word  to  the  gang  that 
their  day's  over.  This  is  your  side  of  the  line;  but 
don't  let  things  get  so  wild  that  they  spill  over  on  us. 
If  you  do,  somebody  will  have  to  leave  town — and 
we're  high  man.  I'm  telling  you  this  to  avoid  trouble." 

McCarthy  nodded. 

"I've  seen  it  coming,"  he  said.  "I'm  getting  ready 
to  move." 

Later  that  night  Gaston  took  Red  Shirt  Murphy 
a  mile  down  the  river  road  and  pointed  down-stream. 

"Good-bye,  Murphy,"  he  said.  "You've  had  your 
day  in  Havens  Falls,  but  you're  leaving  now.  Don't 
come  back.  It  wouldn't  be  healthy.  Lynching' s  too 
good  for  a  man  who'll  rob  a  kid ;  here's  what  you  de- 
serve— Hike !" 

Red  Shirt's  teeth  rattled  as  Gaston's  right  foot  lifted 
him  in  the  air.  The  erstwhile  bad  man  picked  him- 
self up  hurriedly.  Gaston  was  settling  himself  for  an- 
other kick;  Murphy  put  his  head  down  and  ran,  out 
of  sight,  and  out  of  Havens  Falls. 

Next,  Gaston  placed  the  deeds  for  his  own  and 
Tom  Pine's  timber  claim  in  Lonergan's  hands..  The 
railroad  man  added  the  land  to  the  holdings  of  his 
company.  A  few  days  later  he  returned  from  La 
Croix  with  deeds  conveying  to  the  two  partners  the 


Settling  Down  245 

parcel  of  land  which  he  had  directed  Gaston  to  secure 
in  Havens  Falls. 

"Now  I  feel  sure  of  you,"  said  Lonergan,  when  the 
last  details  of  the  transfer  were  completed.  "You'll 
stick  now." 

"What's  that?" 

"I  say  you'll  stick  here  now.  Was  afraid  you'd 
quit  us  and  go  wandering.  Don't  want  you  to  do  it. 
We  need  you  right  here.  Feel  sure  of  you  now;  a 
man  usually  sticks  in  the  spot  where  he's  got  prop- 
erty." 

Tom  Pine  grumbled  as  he  studied  the  deeds. 

"Town  property,"  he  growled.  "What  have  I  got 
to  do  with  things  like  that?  A  piece  of  timber-land, 
that's  all  right.  A  man  can  build  his  shack  and  camp 
on  it  if  he  wants  to.  But  I  ain't  no  town  real  estater, 
Gaston  Olaf,  you  know  that." 

"You  can  sell  out  pretty  soon  and  get  enough  to 
buy  all  the  timber-land  you  want,"  replied  Gaston. 
"This  is  our  chance  to  make  a  stake." 

Tom  thought  it  over  for  a  while. 

"Yep;  that's  all  right  for  you,  Gaston  Olaf — to 
make  a  stake,"  he  muttered.  "But  for  me,  after  it's 
made,  what  am  I  going  to  do  with  it  ?" 

Nevertheless  Tom  Pine  followed  his  leader's  exam- 
ple, and,  apparently,  was  resolved  upon  settling  down 
and  becoming  a  permanent  resident  of  Havens  Falls. 
He  went  to  work  for  Hale,  who,  backed  by  Loner- 
gan, was  rebuilding  the  store.  Tom  worked  steadily 
through  the  lazy  Spring  days  and  drew  only  such  part 
of  his  pay  as  was  necessary  for  his  expenses. 

"If  I  had  any  loose  money  in  my  clothes,  I'd  be 
apt  to  want  to  let  'er  roar  a  little,"  he  explained, 
"and,  Gaston  Olaf  being  marshal,  'twouldn't  be  right 
of  me  to  do  that." 

Gaston,  rinding  no  immediate  call  for  his  services 


246  Gaston  Olaf 

as  marshal,  went  to  work  on  the  railroad.  Lonergan 
had  started  his  line  from  both  ends,  and  Gaston  was 
placed  in  charge  of  the  clearing  crew  working  out  of 
Havens  Falls.  He  was  a  very  different  foreman  than 
the  one  who  had  driven  Taggart's  men  so  ruthlessly. 
He  worked  soberly  and  steadily. 

The  line  ran  out  through  a  forest  of  birch.  At 
times,  when  the  white  trunks  of  the  trees  glistened 
in  the  warm  Spring  sun,  when  the  rapidly  growing 
leaves  waved  lazily  in  the  slight  breeze,  and  a  dozen 
varieties  of  birds  made  the  woods  alive  with  their 
songs  and  plumage,  he  was  moved  to  leap  into  the  air 
and  shout  from  sheer  joy  of  living.  He  didn't  do  it, 
however.  At  such  times  he  thought  of  what  he  was 
working  for  and  with  tightly  pressed  lips  seriously 
went  on  with  his  duties. 

There  was  only  one  thing  to  worry  him  now.  Tag- 
gart  had  sobered  up  and  had  returned  to  his  office, 
as  cold  and  masterful  apparently  as  ever.  It  was  his 
busy  season.  His  drives  were  behind  the  booms,  and 
he  was  occupied  with  the  work  of  turning  the  Winter's 
harvest  into  money. 

Gaston  agreed  with  his  associates  not  to  trouble 
Taggart  so  long  as  he  did  not  trouble  them.  He  did 
not  for  an  instant  fancy  that  Taggart  had  dropped 
the  feud.  He  kept  his  skin  whole  in  those  days  only 
by  his  unflagging  vigilance,  and  by  showing  Taggart 
and  his  men  that  he  was  not  to  be  caught  off  his  guard. 
The  strain  brought  new  lines  about  his  mouth.  What 
new  deviltry  was  Taggart  planning?  When  would 
he  show  it,  and  how  ? 

Gaston's  natural  impulse  was  to  rush  to  meet  Tag- 
gart face  to  face  and  have  it  over  with,  one  way  or 
another,  in  one  final  clash.  He  held  his  peace,  how- 
ever, a  trying  thing  for  him  to  do  with  an  enemy  in 
sight.  His  natural  impulses  were  under  complete  con- 
trol— for  the  time  being. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII 

A    STORM    BREWING 

TAGGARTS  old  gang  had  been  thoroughly  broken 
up.  A  few  of  its  members,  who  had  taken 
only  a  small  part  in  the  memorable  night  fight,  came 
drifting  back,  carefully  feeling  out  the  ground  and 
ready  to  flee  at  the  first  sign  of  hostility. 

The  fight  had  been  taken  out  of  them.  Craven  at 
heart,  they  saw  that  power  in  the  settlement  had 
passed  from  Taggart  to  the  decent  element,  and  they 
sought  at  once  to  curry  favour  with  the  latter.  Here, 
however,  they  met  rebuffs. 

Gaston  pointed  to  the  line  he  had  drawn  in  the 
street. 

"You  made  your  choice  that  night,"  he  reminded 
them.  "Get  back  where  you  belong.  Nobody  will  trust 
you  up  here.  We  won't  bother  you  if  you  don't 
bother  us,  but — you're  not  wanted." 

The  leaders  of  the  gang  followed  Murphy's  exam- 
ple and  did  not  return.  The  gangsters  who  had  come 
back  hung  meekly  around  the  river- front,  and  law  and 
order  were  undisturbed  in  Havens  Falls. 

"Pretty  dull,  ain't  it,  Gaston  Olaf?"  commented 
Tom  Pine  one  Saturday  evening  as  they  sat  before  the 
hotel  and  looked  down  toward  the  river-front. 
"  'Member  how  it  used  to  be  on  a  Sat'day  night,  down 
there?  Now — why,  you  can't  scare  up  enough  excite- 
ment to  start  a  sweat." 

"Don't  want  to  start  any  excitement,"  retorted  Gas- 
247 


248  Gaston  Olaf 

ton.  "This  is  just  the  way  we  want  it,  nice,  quiet 
and  orderly." 

Tom  Pine  heaved  a  sigh. 

"Yes;  but  it  gets  darn  good  and  dull  sometimes, 
you'll  admit  that,  Gaston  Olaf  ?" 

"I'll  admit  nothing  of  the  sort,"  was  the  reply. 
"This  is  the  way  I  want  things;  I've  worked  to  make 
things  this  way;  don't  want  any  foolish  excitement 
any  more.  Besides,"  his  eyes  lighted  up,  "there'll 
be  plenty  of  excitement  before  long.  Taggart  isn't 
going  to  lay  quiet  much  longer." 

"Taggart?  Hm,  hm.  What  about  Taggart,  Big 
Fellow?" 

Dr.  Sanders,  coming  to  see  Hulda,  stopped  for  a 
moment's  chat.  Gaston  repeated  his  remark.  The 
doctor  shook  his  head. 

"Hm,  hm.  Don't  agree  with  you,  Gaston.  Old 
Devil  Dave  is  a  bear,  sure  enough,  but  he  isn't  ex- 
actly mad  with  the  heat.  No  one  man  is  going  to 
try  to  buck  a  whole  settlement  by  himself,  and  Tag- 
gart's  gang  is  gone — busted." 

"But  the  old  man  isn't,"  insisted  Gaston.  "He'll 
bear  a  lot  of  watching  yet.  The  old  gang  is  gone, 
sure;  but  there's  nothing  to  keep  him  from  getting 
another." 

The  doctor  passed  on  inside,  and  Tom  Pine  lighted 
his  pipe  and  went  for  a  stroll.  After  a  while 
Gaston  rose  and  went  down  the  street  to  the  river- 
front. 

As  he  passed  McCarthy's  he  glanced  through  the 
open  door  and  stopped  in  surprise.  McCarthy  was 
not  in  sight.  Where  he  was  accustomed  to  stand  on 
Saturday  nights  stood  a  heavy,  crop-headed  man  with 
the  flat  face  and  figure  of  a  Slav.  Impelled  by  curi- 
osity, Gaston  entered.  New  bartenders,  of  the  same 
type  as  the  man  in  front,  were  behind  the  bar.  The 


A  Storm  Brewing  249 

crowd,  likewise,  was  different,  squat,  flat-faced  for- 
eigners, talking  in  a  strange,  guttural  tongue. 

"Hullo,  Boss,"  greeted  Gaston;  "where's  McCar- 
thy?" 

"Gone  'way,"  was  the  guttural  response.  "Dis 
place  mine  now." 

Gaston  recalled  what  McCarthy  had  said  about  get- 
ting ready  to  move. 

"You've  bought  McCarthy  out?" 

"Yess.     An't'ing  elsse  you  want  know?" 

A  snicker  ran  around  the  crowd.  Gaston,  looking 
at  their  flat  evil  faces,  saw  they  were  regarding  him 
with  sneers.  Anger  flared  up  within  him.  Hot  words 
sprang  to  his  tongue;  but  he  caught  himself  in  time. 

"No;  that's  all,"  he  said  patiently  and  turned  to 

go- 

The  proprietor  followed  him  to  the  door. 

"I  hear  'bout  you.  You  run  diss  town,  hah?  By 
— !  You  won' run  Jan  Ulnick's  place.  Jan  Ulnick, 
Polska  Saloon,  see?  Dat's  wha'  diss  goin'  be.  Polish 
manns  goin'  work  for  Bahss  Taggar'.  See?  Bahss 
tell  us  all  about  you.  You  tink  you  want  to  monk' 
with  us,  hah?  We  don'  stand  dat,  see?" 

"I  see,"  replied  Gaston,  and  hurried  to  get  himself 
away  before  his  rage  could  master  him. 

He  went  at  once  to  Lonergan,  who  was  in  town, 
and  told  what  he  had  discovered.  Lonergan  had 
an  old  Pole  in  the  crew  at  that  end  of  the  line,  a  man 
who  had  been  with  him  for  years  and  wrhom  he 
could  trust.  This  man  he  sent  to  mingle  with  the 
crowd  at  McCarthy's  old  place  and  learn  all  he  could. 
The  old  man  returned  within  an  hour,  shaking  his 
head. 

"It  is  Jan  Ulnick,  the  bad  saloon-keeper  from  over 
on  the  Iron  Range,"  he  reported.  "The  men  with 
him  are  bad  men,  miners  who  would  not  work,  who 


250  Gaston  Olaf 

are  driven  out  of  the  mines.  Ulnick  had  a  bad  place 
over  there.  He  is  driven  out  by  the  sheriff,  and  these 
men  with  him.  Taggart  sends  for  them.  He  tells 
them  this  is  a  place  they  can  do  as  they  please  in,  no 
sheriff,  nobody  to  stop  them — if  they  do  not  let  the 
people  here  bluff  them.  He  tells  them  the  people  here 
are  great  bluffers,  but  they  are  afraid  of  bad,  strong 
men.  Ulnick  buys  out  McCarthy.  Taggart  promises 
the  rest  work.  Other  bad  saloon-keepers  and  men  are 
coming  from  the  Range.  They  say  nobody  had  better 
monkey  with  them." 

Lonergan  looked  silently  at  Gaston  as  the  old  man 
finished  his  story,  and  Gaston  looked  back.  The  rail- 
road man  shook  his  head. 

"Our  friend  Taggart  is  a  great  man,"  said  he, 
"great  general,  great  politician,  great  organiser — gone 
wrong." 

"I  knew  he  was  about  due  to  make  a  move,"  said 
Gaston.  "But  I  never  looked  for  this." 

"He  couldn't  have  made  a  better  one,  from  his 
point  of  view,"  continued  Lonergan.  "He  knows  that 
he  could  never  get  another  gang  of  white  men  around 
him  here.  They've  all  heard  of  what  happened  to  the 
old  gang.  You've  busted  the  old  man's  grip.  He  had 
to  get  hold  of  a  crew  that  didn't  know  what  had  hap- 
pened here,  and  wouldn't  understand  if  they  did. 
These  ignorant,  pig-faced  Hunyaks  fill  the  bill.  Tag- 
gart is  himself  again." 

"He's  a  fox  and  a  wolf,"  admitted  Gaston.  "We're 
too  strong  for  him  now,  though." 

Lonergan  scratched  his  head  dubiously. 

"I  dunno  about  that,  Thorson.  Of  course,  Tag- 
gart's  out  for  one  kind  of  game,  you  understand 
that?" 

"The  first  job  he'll  set  these  Hunyaks  at  is  to  put 
me  out  of  business,"  agreed  Gaston  quietly. 


A  Storm  Brewing  251 

"Yes.  And  if  they  succeed  in  doing  that — well, 
you  know  what  it  will  look  like :  Taggart  will  be 
Big  Chief  again,  and  God  help  Havens  Falls!" 

"That's  it.  And  that's  why  I'm  not  going  to  take 
any  chances." 

"What's  your  programme,  Thorson?" 

"Keep  out  of  their  way  as  much  as  possible.  Leave 
them  alone  if  they  leave  us  alone.  But  if  they  get 
so  bad  we  can't  stand  'em " 

He  stopped  abruptly  with  a  snap  of  his  teeth  and 
stood  looking  with  flashing  eyes  toward  the  river- 
front. 

"Then  what?" 

Gaston's  teeth  gleamed  white  as  he  smiled. 

"Law  and  order,"  said  he.  "Law  and  order  for- 
ever." 

Tom  Pine  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  when  he  heard 
of  the  new  situation. 

"Then  there'll  be  something  happening,"  said  he 
contentedly.  "Hunyaks  are  lambs  when  they're  alone, 
but  wolves  when  you  get  'em  in  a  pack.  They'll  be 
trying  to  run  us  out.  Nacherly,  we  won't  go.  There'll 
be  some  excitement  then.  We  need  it.  Things  have 
been  mighty  dull." 

In  the  next  few  days  it  developed  that  Lonergan's 
man  had  reported  the  situation  correctly.  One  by 
one  the  old  saloon-keepers  of  the  front  sold  out,  and 
men  of  Ulnick's  type  took  their  places.  The  dives 
and  the  dance-hall  changed  hands  last  of  all.  There 
was  a  complete  change  in  the  personnel  of  the  front. 
The  newcomers  brought  women  with  them.  The  riv- 
er-front was  in  their  hands  and  under  Ulnick's  lead- 
ership. 

Save  for  this  threatening  change,  Havens  Falls 
would  have  been  gloriously  content  with  itself  during 
those  bright  days  of  Spring.  It  was  experiencing  the 


252  Gaston  Olaf 

first  thrill  of  a  boom,  and  the  optimism  of  a  boom- 
town  was  its  to  a  considerable  degree. 

That  a  railroad  was  being  built  up  to  the  settlement 
was  in  itself  enough  to  start  the  enthusiasm.  Settlers 
began  to  come  in ;  merchants  followed  them.  The  rat- 
tle of  hammers  echoed  ceaselessly  throughout  the  warm 
days.  Houses  were  thrown  up  swiftly.  Lots  were 
staked  out  and  sold,  building  lots  where  a  few  weeks 
before  rabbits  had  romped  undisturbed. 

Plans  were  made  to  apply  for  a  city  charter,  to 
build  a  school  and  a  church.  Male's  new  stock  came 
in  by  the  wagon-load.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  new 
crowd  in  the  river- front,  the  settlement  would  have 
whooped  with  joy. 

The  river-front  grew  more  threatening  day  by  day. 
Taggart  was  discharging  all  his  old  men  and  replacing 
them  with  foreigners.  These  men  grew  more  and 
more  insolent  toward  the  townspeople. 

Then  one  day  it  became  known  that  Taggart  had 
started  drinking  again.  Nobody  was  surprised.  Hav- 
ing by  choice  surrounded  himself  with  a  swinish  crew, 
he  proceeded  to  sink  himself  to  their  level.  Gaston 
knew  that  the  inevitable  clash  would  come  before 
Taggart  was  over  this  spree. 

"Inevitable,  hm,  hm,  inevitable  that  he'd  do  that," 
commented  Dr.  Sanders.  "Instincts  all  wrong,  you 
know.  Whisky  and  women ;  he  can't  rise  above  them. 
The  whisky  has  been  getting  him,  too,  this  last  year. 
His  debauches  have  been  a  little,  hm,  hm,  a  little 
too  inhuman  even  for  him  to  stand.  Nerves  torn  to 
pieces;  system  crying  periodically  for  excesses,  each 
one  worse  than  the  last.  He'll  go  to  pieces;  had  the 
willies  a  couple  times.  Go  to  pieces  sure ;  likely  to  do 
damage  when  he  does." 

One  quiet  evening  the  doctor,  visiting  Hulda  at 
the  hotel,  was  sent  for  to  come  down  to  one  of  the 


A  Storm  Brewing  253 

dives.  His  patient  was  an  unfortunate  woman;  her 
thin,  miserable  arm  had  been  broken  above  the  elbow 
by  a  blow.  In  a  corner  of  the  room  sat  Taggart,  hold- 
ing a  broken  whisky  bottle  by  the  neck,  leering  in- 
sanely, his  eyes  popping,  his  head  jerking  about  help- 
lessly. 

"Fix  her  up,  Doc;  want  to  teach  her  'nother  les- 
son," he  sneered.  "Teach  'em  all  lessons.  I'm  king 
here — own  'em — body'n'  soul." 

Dr.  Sanders,  the  professional  instinct  uppermost, 
before  he  left  the  place  spoke  once  to  Taggart. 

"Taggart,  as  a  physician,  I  must  warn  you :  if 
you  continue  this  spree  any  longer  you're  as  good  as 
dead." 

"Wrong,  doc;  dead  wrong,"  sneered  Taggart 
promptly.  "Another  man'll  die  of  it;  not  me.  His 
name's  Thorson.  I'll  show  'im.  He's  the  one  who's 
good  as  dead." 

Gaston  tightened  his  lips  as  Dr.  Sanders  told  him 
of  this. 

"It'll  come  now;  he'll  run  wild,  like  a  mad  dog," 
said  he.  "Well,  the  sooner  the  better." 

Tom  Pine  likewise  grew  serious  as  he  heard  the 
doctor  repeat  Taggart's  words. 

"That  means  the  old  devil's  set  a  trap  for  you, 
Gaston  Olaf." 

"Sure." 

"And  he's  got  them  Hunyaks  with  him  this  time 
— too  many  of  'em." 

"Sure  again." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Dr.  Sanders  stroked 
his  beard  nervously ;  Gaston  sat  looking  at  the  ground. 
At  last  Tom  Pine  rose  casually,  clearing  his  throat. 

"Guess  I'll  go  for  a  little  walk  before  turning  in," 
he  said,  striving  to  speak  carelessly,  but  his  effort  be- 
trayed him. 


254  Gaston  Olaf 

"You've  walked  enough  to-day,"  said  Gaston,  catch- 
ing him  by  the  arm.  "Sit  down.  Don't  you  go  start- 
ing a  little  war  against  Taggart  by  yourself.  I've 
told  you  that  doesn't  go  any  more  here." 

"It's  the  easiest  way,  Gaston  Olaf,"  protested  Tom. 
"He's  raving  with  liquor  now.  He'd  try  to  get  me 
on  first  sight.  Then  it'd  be  all  over  in  two  shakes 
of  a  doe's  tail,  and  those  Hunyaks  would  be  easy  to 
handle  with  the  old  man  gone." 

"It  doesn't  go,"  repeated  Gaston  firmly. 

"No,"  agreed  Dr.  Sanders  with  a  sigh,  "it  doesn't 
go.  Law  and  order.  Hm,  hm.  We  can't  break  the 
law." 

There  was  more  silence. 

"No  use  telling  anybody  what  he  said  about  me," 
said  Gaston  finally.  "It  wouldn't  do  any  good,  and 
it  might  cause  some  worry." 

As  they  were  about  to  part,  Dr.  Sanders  hung  back, 
tugging  at  his  beard,  and  with  many  hm,  hm's,  indi- 
cating that  something  was  on  his  mind. 

"Out  with  it,  Doc,"  said  Gaston.  "What's  troubling 
you?" 

"Well — hm,  hm — you  know,  I'd  like  things  to  run 
along  for  the  next  week  or  so  without  any  trouble. 
We're  going  to  get  married,  the  girl  and  myself,  a 
week  from  to-day.  She'd  feel  a  lot  better,  you  know, 
if  things  went  along  smooth  and  safe  at  this  time." 

"Well?" 

"Hm,  hm.  I'm  pretty  sure  I  know  a  way  out  of 
this  without  any  trouble  for  the  present,  Thorson." 

"What  is  it?" 

"This:  Taggart  is  going  to  pieces  rapidly.  He's 
sure  to  be  laid  up  a  while  at  least  after  this  awful 
spree.  He  can't  do  anything  then.  If  the  trouble 
doesn't  come  while  he's  on  this  drunk,  it  may  not 
come  at  all.  Anyhow  it'll  be  delayed." 


A  Storm  Brewing  255 

"Go  on." 

"Well,  the  way  his  crazy  mind  is  running  now  it's 
only  you  that  he's  really  after.  If  you  weren't  here 
— if  you  should  go  out  of  town  until  this  spree  puts 
Taggart  on  his  back " 

But  Gaston  clouded  up  darkly. 

"No,  sir!"  he  snapped.  "I  left  town  once  on  ac- 
count of  Taggart.  I  won't  do  it  again.  Don't  ask 
it.  This  time  one  of  us  is  going  away  for  good."- 


"WAIT,  GASTON!" 

G  ASTON  sat  alone  for  a  long  time  after  the 
doctor  had  gone.  So  Sanders  and  Hulda  were 
going  to  get  married.  The  carefree,  sport-loving  bach- 
elor had  met  his  fate.  In  the  quiet,  blue  eyes  of  Hulda 
he  had  found  something  that  was  more  to  him  than 
his  whisky-bottle,  more  than  his  bachelorhood,  more 
than  all  the  wild  freedom  of  the  life  he  hitherto  had 
led. 

The  doc  was  going  to  settle  down.  He  had  given 
up  the  whisky  altogether.  Samson  no  longer  ruled 
in  the  back  room.  The  doctor  had  ceased  to  volunteer 
his  services  as  referee  at  every  fight  that  came  within 
his  ken.  He  had  substituted  sober,  professional  black 
for  his  gaudy  waistcoats,  and  he  was  building  a  house 
for  himself  and  Hulda. 

Gaston  smiled  as  he  contemplated  the  change  that 
had  come  in  the  doctor  in  the  last  few  weeks.  He 
was  sensible  that  he  had  come  to  regard  Sanders  in 
a  different  light.  At  first  he  had  merely  liked  him  as 
a  good  fellow;  now  he  respected  him  as  a  physician 
and  as  a  man. 

So  the  doctor  and  Hulda  were  to  marry.  And  they 
would  settle  down  in  the  house  they  were  building. 
They  would  have  a  home.  Children  would  come  to 
them ;  the  doctor  would  know  the  sober  thrill  of  hold- 
ing in  his  arms  his  first-born,  flesh  of  his  flesh,  bone 
of  his  bone.  As  the  town  grew  the  doctor's  practice 
would  grow.  He  would  be  a  big  man,  settled  and  all 
that,  with  his  woman  at  his  side. 

256 


"Wait,  Gaston!"  257 

Lucky  doctor!  He  had  found  contentment,  even 
happiness.  Gaston  began  to  dream.  His  quick  imag- 
ination pictured  himself  in  the  doctor's  place.  He 
saw  Rose  moving  about  him — about  their  home — trip- 
ping lightly  on  her  tiny  feet,  her  face  alight  with  joy. 
Was  there  anything  better  in  the  world  than  that? 

"Whip-er-will ;  whip-er-will ;  whip-er-will !"  sud- 
denly cried  a  whip-poor-will  down  by  the  river. 

Startled,  Gaston  looked  in  its  direction.  He  saw 
the  river-front,  red  with  lights,  heard  a  sudden  shout 
of  drunken  song,  and  his  brow  clouded. 

"Better  have  that  settled  before  you  begin  planning," 
he  told  himself.  "You  may  not  be  here  to  plan  after 
that's  over." 

To  rid  himself  of  these  dark  thoughts  he  rose  and 
walked  up  to  where  Dr.  Sanders  was  building  his  new 
home.  To  his  surprise  he  saw  that  the  house  was  less 
than  half  finished.  It  would  be  impossible  at  the  rate 
it  was  going  to  have  it  completed  by  the  day  set  for 
the  wedding. 

"Huh !  That  isn't  right,"  he  mused.  "The  doc  and 
Hulda  ought  to  have  their  own  house  ready  to  move 
into!"  A  gleam  of  amusement  crossed  his  face.  The 
dark  thoughts  were  forgotten.  "Yes,  by  Jupiter!  and 
they're  going  to  have  it,  too,"  he  said,  and  went  home 
to  bed  smiling  boyishly. 

Next  morning  he  broached  his  idea  to  Hale. 

"We  owe  it  to  the  doc,"  he  explained.  "He's  a 
good  fellow.  We'll  give  'em  a  building-bee  and  have 
the  house  all  ready  for  them." 

Hale  promptly  fell  in  with  the  idea. 

"The  store  can  wait,"  he  said,  and  turned  himself 
and  his  builders  over  to  the  new  project. 

Gaston  explained  to  Lonergan  why  he  would  leave 
the  crew  for  a  week. 

"Sure,"  said  Lonergan.    "Need  any  more  men?" 


258  Gaston  Olaf 

Dr.  Sanders  rubbed  his  eyes  when  he  came  forth  to 
inspect  the  progress  of  his  building. 

"Hm,  hm!  What's  this,  what's  this?"  he  de- 
manded. 

Gaston,  in  the  act  of  lifting  a  rafter  into  place, 
laughed  down  at  him. 

"Tom  Pine  and  I  want  your  old  shack,"  he  said, 
"so  we've  decided  to  get  this  one  finished  for  you  in 
a  hurry." 

"Hm,  hm.  All  right,"  said  the  doctor.  "Do  the 
same  for  you  some  time." 

The  finishing  of  the  doctor's  house  became  a  lark 
for  the  whole  settlement.  Other  building  stopped  for 
the  time  being  while  the  builders  devoted  themselves 
to  the  building  "bee."  From  the  rapidly  growing 
structure  rose  a  constant  rat-tat-tat  of  hammers,  punc- 
tuated by  the  jests  and  laughter  of  the  crowd  of  work- 
ers. As  they  worked  they  considered  the  situation 
seriously. 

"The  doc  was  fig*  ring  on  a  quiet  wedding,  but  that 
won't  do,"  said  one  enthusiast.  "Now  that  we've 
started  on  it  we  might's  well  do  it  up  brown.  Let's 
make  it  a  holiday,  and  everybody  lay  off  and  give  'em 
a  send-off  that'll  do  the  town  proud." 

The  idea  was  greeted  with  acclamation.  It  was  the 
first  wedding  of  importance  in  the  settlement,  and  the 
pioneers  determined  to  make  it  a  memorable  event. 
The  work  on  the  house  went  on  with  increased  speed. 

Two  days  before  the  day  set  for  the  wedding  Gas- 
ton  climbed  to  the  peak  of  the  roof  and  fastened  a 
small  flag,  donated  by  Postmaster  Perkins,  to  the  tin 
chimney.  The  crowd  gathered  before  the  house,  com- 
prising every  man,  woman  and  child  of  the  respectable 
portion  of  Havens  Falls,  waved  hats  and  handkerchiefs 
and  cheered  lustily.  The  house  was  finished  and  ready 
for  the  doctor  and  Hulda  to  occupy. 


"Wait,  Gaston!"  259 

As  Gaston  came  clambering  down  from  the  roof  he 
met  Rose  leading  a  corps  of  women  into  the  building. 
Some  carried  brooms,  others  carried  curtains,  plants, 
carpet-pieces  and  other  articles  of  furniture  and  deco- 
ration. 

"Your  job  is  done  here,  Mr.  Man,"  she  said  gaily. 
"Now  the  ladies  come  on  the  scene  to  beautify  the  la- 
bour of  men's  hands." 

"That's  what  they  always  do,"  he  replied.  "Men 
can't  do  anything  but  put  up  the  bare  walls;  it's  you 
women  who  make  a  home  out  of  a  place." 

"Of  course.  But  a  woman  can't  make  a  home  unless 
there's  a  man  to  do  the  building.  You  see,  we're 
dependent  on  one  another." 

"Yes.  And  each  has  got  to  be  dependable."  He 
looked  the  house  over.  "The  doctor  and  Hulda  will 
be  happy  here,  all  right;  they're  both  the  dependable 
kind." 

Rose  laughed,  a  trifle  mischievously. 

"Certainly  they'll  be  happy.  Hulda' s  started 
mothering  him  already,  and  the  doctor  is  the  kind  of 
man  who  needs  and  likes  to  be  mothered.  Oh,  yes; 
they'll  be  happy.  Hulda'll  be  the  boss  in  a  month, 
and  Dr.  Sanders  knows  it  and  is  glad  of  it." 

Gaston  gazed  at  her,  wide-eyed  with  admiration. 

"That's  so.  I  can  see  it,  now  that  you've  spoken 
of  it.  How  did  you  know  it?  Can  you  read  all  men 
like  that?" 

"No."  She  grew  serious.  "No,  some  men  a  woman 
can't  read  at  all.  It's  all  plain  in  the  doctor's  case ;  he 
— he's  just  a  nice,  ordinary  man." 

"Some  men  aren't — nice  and  ordinary?" 

"Aren't  ordinary,"  she  corrected.  "They — oh,  I 
don't  know.  Gaston,"  she  said,  looking  straight  at 
him,  "I  wonder  if  I  will  ever  know  you.  You're  so 
full  of  surprises.  One  day  I  think  of  you  as  fierce — 


260  Gaston  Olaf 

no,  not  that — as  restless  and  reckless.  Sort  of  a  wild, 
strange  spirit.  And  then  you  do  something  sweet  and 
pretty,  like  getting  this  house  finished,  so  they'll  have 
their  own  home  to  move  into  when  they're  married. 
What  a  jolly  idea  that  was !" 

"I  like  to  see  folks  have  homes,"  he  said  lamely. 

"Yes.     I  know  you  do." 

"I  want  a  home  of  my  own,"  he  whispered  hoarsely. 

She  looked  at  him  tenderly  for  a  moment. 

"Gaston,"  she  said  softly,  "are  you  sure  that  you 
do?  Are  you  sure  that  you  want  that  more  than — 
your  freedom?  For  you  know — you  know  you  can 
not  have  them  both." 

"I  am  sure "  he  began,  but  checked  himself. 

He  hesitated,  his  eyes  on  the  ground.  "If  I  was  sure, 
Rose " 

"But  you're  not,  Gaston!"  she  whispered  haltingly. 
"You're  not!  I  can  see  it.  You're  not  sure  yet;  you 
know  you're  not." 

Within  him  he  felt  an  all  but  uncontrollable  impulse 
to  reply  firmly  that,  yes,  he  was  sure.  The  impulse 
sprang  from  the  very  roots  of  his  being.  It  cried  out 
to  him  to  swear  that  he  was  sure,  to  dominate  her, 
to  make  her  believe  it  was  so,  to  take  her  for  his 
own. 

His  lips  even  opened  to  utter  the  words.  He  trem- 
bled, and  for  an  instant  his  blue  eyes  were  clouded 
with  the  agony  of  his  struggle.  The  selfishness  of  the 
young  male  rose  strong  in  him.  He  wanted  her  so 
much,  and,  whispered  impulse,  it  would  be  so  easy 
to  convince  her  that  he  was  sure ;  it  would  even  be  easy 
to  convince  himself. 

His  lips  were  parted;  the  words  came  rushing  to 
his  tongue ;  and  then  he  clicked  his  jaws  together  and 
threw  up  his  head.  His  eyes  were  clean  again  now, 
and  something  finer  than  yearning,  something  finer 


"Wait,  Gaston!"  261 

even  than  the  light  of  love  itself,  was  gleaming  in  the 
deep  blue  of  them. 

"Rose,"  his  voice  was  normal  and  steady  again — 
"I  don't  know  whether  I  am  sure." 

She  nodded  gravely. 

"I  knew  you  weren't  sure,  Gaston.  I  could  feel 
it." 

"When  I  am  sure,  do  you  think  you  could  feel  that, 
too?" 

Again  she  nodded. 

"If  ever  you  are  sure,  I  think  I  would  feel  that, 
too." 

"'If?    Then  you  don't  think " 

She  turned  away  without  reply. 

"If  I  do  come  to  know  that  I'm  sure,"  he  persisted, 
"and  you  feel  it,  what  then?" 

She  turned  back  and  looked  at  him  for  a  long  time. 

"Gaston,"  she  said,  "I  like  you,  and  I  like  Dick 
Hale.  But  you  are  trying  to  make  me  more  than  like 
you.  Oh,  Gaston!  You  mustn't  talk  to  me  like  this 
unless  you  become  sure  of  yourself." 

"Forgive  me,"  he  whispered  penitently.  "I'll  never 
speak  another  word  of  it — unless  I'm  sure  I  have  the 
right." 

She  held  out  her  hand  impulsively. 

"Shake!"  she  said,  smiling.  "Now  I  must  get  to 
work." 

As  she  turned  to  join  the  other  women,  Hale  came 
up,  his  arms  filled  with  rolls  of  wall-paper.  Rose  ea- 
gerly tore  open  a  roll  to  look  at  the  pattern. 

"Oh,  Dick!'  she  cried.  "What  perfect  taste  you've 
got!  Such  a  dainty  blue,  and  those  tiny  flowers! 
Won't  it  make  their  sitting-room  perfectly  darling!" 

They  went  inside,  Rose  fairly  skipping  with  eager- 
ness while  Hale  smiled  patiently.  Gaston,  looking 
after  them,  smiled  also;  but  he  only  did  so  because 


262  Gaston  Olaf 

it  was  natural  for  him  to  smile  when  he  was  hit 
hard. 

"Come  on,  Thorson,"  called  a  man  from  behind  the 
house,  and  Gaston  roused  himself.  "Where  are  we 
going  to  build  the  dance  floor?" 

That  was  another  idea  which  the  settlement  had 
conceived  to  aid  in  celebrating  the  wedding.  They 
were  going  to  have  a  dance,  of  course.  What  would 
a  wedding  be  without  a  dance  ?  An  orchestra  was  to 
be  brought  up  from  La  Croix,  not  merely  a  couple 
of  fiddlers,  but  a  real  orchestra,  including  horns  and 
a  trap-drummer. 

It  would  be  a  celebration  as  to  attract  such  a  crowd 
as  never  yet  had  been  known  north  of  La  Croix. 
Would  there  be  room  for  everybody  to  dance  in  the 
doctor's  new  house?  Obviously  there  would  not  be. 
Thus  it  was  resolved  to  splurge  and  lay  down  an  out- 
door dancing-floor  which  would  send  the  fame  of 
Havens  Falls  flying  broadcast  throughout  the 
woods. 

The  men  turned  from  the  building  of  the  house  to 
the  laying  of  the  floor.  While  some  put  down  the 
boards  others  went  into  the  swamp  and  cut  a  wagon- 
load  of  small  evergreen  trees.  These  were  fastened 
upright  around  the  floor,  enclosing  it  in  four  odorous, 
green  walls. 

To  further  embellish  the  scene,  Postmaster  Perkins 
brought  forth  a  roll  of  old  bunting.  The  boys  cheered. 
It  reminded  them  of  the  Fourth  of  July. 

On  the  night  before  the  wedding  it  was  all  complete. 
The  house  was  ready  for  occupancy;  the  orchestra 
was  in  town;  the  floor  was  in  shape.  Hale  had  gone 
to  La  Croix  to  drive  the  minister  up  in  the  morning, 
and  it  awaited  only  the  morning  for  the  celebration  to 
begin. 

"Well,"  said  Gaston,  as  he  and  Tom  Pine  quit  work 


"Wait,  Gaston!"  263 

that  evening,  "I'm  surprised  they  let  us  get  that  done 
without  a  hitch." 

Tom  whistled. 

"You  mean  those  Hunyaks  and  Taggart  ?  You  been 
thinking  about  them,  too?" 

"I  couldn't  hardly  forget  them,  could  I?  They've 
been  noisy  enough  every  night.  They've  left  us  strictly 
alone,  though,  and  that  looks  bad.  Taggart  must  have 
been  holding  'em  in,  though  he's  plumb  crazy  from 
drinking.  If  he  has  it's  only  been  for  one  thing." 

"To-morrow,  you  mean,  Gaston  Olaf?" 

"Yes,  it  would  be  like  the  old  devil  to  save  his  worst 
stroke  for  a  day  like  to-morrow." 

Tom  Pine  grew  thoughtful.  He  retired  early  to  his 
room.  From  the  window  of  the  room  he  could  look 
down  the  river-front  from  end  to  end. 

Tom  carefully  oiled  his  rifle  and  Gaston's,  tried 
levers  and  triggers,  loaded  the  magazines  to  the  brim, 
and  went  to  bed.  In  the  morning  he  complained  of 
excruciating  pains  in  his  left  leg,  alleging  that  he  had 
strained  it  the  day  before.  Besides,  his  rheumatism 
always  bothered  him  that  time  of  the  year,  he  said.  It 
would  be  necessary,  he  declared,  for  him  to  keep  to 
his  bed  most  of  the  day,  lest  the  trouble  become 
aggravated. 

Gaston  laughed,  knowing  well  Tom's  dislike  for  con- 
ventional festivities  and  recognising  a  subterfuge.  But 
Tom  had  moved  his  bed  so  he  could  lie  on  it  and  look 
out  of  the  window  upon  the  river-front. 


CHAPTER     XXXIX 

TAGGART    STRIKES 

THE  day  of  the  wedding  dawned  clear,  cool  and 
sunny.  A  slight  breeze,  blowing  from  the 
woods  toward  the  river,  carried  over  the  town  the 
many  fresh  odours  of  northern  woods  in  the  full 
bloom  of  early  Summer.  There  was  the  odour  of 
balsam  in  the  air,  and  of  budding  tamaracks  and 
spruce. 

Up  from  the  swamp  came  the  smell  of  cowslips  and 
yellow-headed  water-lilies,  while  from  the  sunny  sides 
of  the  surrounding  hills  there  came  drifting  down 
the  gentle  odour  of  dying  woods  violets,  which  in 
spots  covered  the  ground  like  a  carpet.  Up  above, 
against  the  sky,  tiny  specks  of  white  clouds  shared 
with  a  pair  of  lazily  soaring  hawks  in  the  vast  blue 
dome  of  the  heavens.  The  birds  of  the  forest,  with 
no  clatter  of  hammering  to  alarm  them,  drew  near, 
and  in  the  stillness  of  the  morning  their  clear  notes 
ringed  the  settlement  around  with  song.  It  was  a 
day  when  the  whole  world  seemed  glad  and  rilled 
with  young  life — a  day  fit  for  the  wedding  of  a 
Hulda. 

The  people  of  the  settlement,  and  their  visitors, 
appeared  early,  dressed  for  the  occasion.  Postmaster 
Perkins  was  solemnly  gorgeous  in  ancient  swallow- 
tailed  coat,  high,  leather  boots,  hickory  shirt  and 
wide-brimmed  G.  A.  R.  hat.  Lonergan  even  went 
further — he  wore  a  new  suit  of  black,  a  stiff  shirt 
and  collar ! 

From  these  extremes  of  fashion  the  apparel  of  the 
264 


Taggart  Strikes  265 

men  ranged  to  the  fringed  buckskin  shirts  and  trou- 
sers of  the  trappers  who  had  come  in  from  the  woods 
for  the  occasion.  Most  of  the  women  and  girls  man- 
aged to  display  something  new  in  the  way  of  dress, 
sash  or  ribbon.  Some  of  the  girls  were  spick-and- 
span  in  white  dresses  with  wide  blue  sashes.  A  few 
Indians  waddled  stolidly  about  in  blankets  and  mocca- 
sins. 

The  wedding  was  set  for  "high  noon,"  as  the  editor 
at  La  Croix  wrote  in  his  next  week's  issue.  After 
the  ceremony,  dinner  was  to  be  served,  and  then  the 
dancing  was  to  begin. 

In  the  private  recesses  of  Olson's  Hotel,  Rose  and 
other  women  had  Hulda  prepared  for  the  event  an 
hour  before  the  time  set.  It  was  with  difficulty  that 
Hulda  was  restrained  from  doing  her  share  of  the 
work  about  the  hotel  that  morning.  Only  after  she 
saw  that  neighbours  were  efficiently  assisting  her 
mother,  did  she  agree  to  "sit  like  a  loafer,"  as  she 
expressed  it. 

When  fully  dressed  for  her  wedding  Hulda's  ap- 
pearance threw  her  attendants  into  ecstasies  of  de- 
light. Of  all  the  women  present  she  was  the  only 
one  serene  and  undisturbed.  Even  in  stiffly  starched 
white,  and  laced  to  within  an  inch  of  her  life,  the 
magnificent  freedom  of  her  body  was  untrammelled. 
The  red  and  cream  of  her  complexion  was  a  trifle 
heightened  by  excitement;  her  steady  blue  eyes  were 
serene  with  happiness  and  triumph;  down  her  back 
two  thick  braids  of  yellow-golden  hair  fell  below  her 
waist.  At  times  she  blushed  slightly. 

In  the  doctor's  bachelor  quarters  Dr.  Sanders,  in 
the  hands  of  Gaston  and  Lonergan,  sat  fully  dressed, 
waiting  for  the  noon  hour  with  all  the  serenity  and 
composure  of  a  man  about  to  be  hanged  for  stealing 
sheep.  To  further  his  comfort  his  two  companions 


266  Gaston  Olaf 

assured  him  that  the  agony  of  waiting  was  nothing 
compared  to  what  he  would  experience  during  the 
ceremony. 

"Wait  until  you  get  up  there  before  the  minister 
with  everybody  looking  at  you,"  encouraged  Gaston. 
"Then  you'll  have  something  to  get  cold  sweats 
about" 

The  doctor  retorted  with  an  old  shoe,  which  Gas- 
ton  ducked,  laughingly. 

Lonergan  looked  at  his  watch. 

"Hello!  Ten  minutes  after  eleven.  Hale  and  the 
preacher  are  about  due." 

"Maybe  they'll  be  late;  maybe  something's  hap- 
pened; maybe  they  can't  come."  The  doctor  grasped 
at  the  straws  eagerly. 

"Oh,  no,"  Gaston  assured  him.  "Nothing's  hap- 
pened. Hale  will  be  here  on  time.  You  can't  escape. 
A  few  minutes  more  now  and  we'll  be  leading  you 
out  where  the  crowd  can  get  one  last,  fond  look  at 
you." 

Dr.  Sanders  swung  to  the  window,  glanced  out  and 
retreated. 

"Whew!  Everybody  in  town's  ready  and  waiting. 
Regular  mob.  Hm,  hm.  You'd  think  they'd  never 
seen  a  wedding  the  way  they're  waiting — think  it  was 
a  show." 

"It  is,"  chuckled  Gaston.  "Take  my  word  for 
it,  Doc,  you'll  be  a  show  all  by  yourself." 

"It's  an  almighty  quiet  crowd,"  said  Lonergan 
speculatively.  "The  boys  are  staying  away  from  the 
saloons." 

"They  all  like  doc  and  respect  the  trouble  he's  going 
through." 

"Quiet  down  in  the  river- front,  too.  Wonder  if 
they're  doing  that  because  there's  a  little  decency  left 
in  'em?" 


Taggart  Strikes  267 

"What  time  is  it?"  cried  the  doctor  petulantly. 
"Darn  it!  Why  doesn't  Hale  show  up?  Said  he'd 
be  here  about  eleven,  didn't  he?  If  he's  coming,  why 
doesn't  he  come  and  have  it  over  with?" 

A  number  of  women  passed  the  office,  going  toward 
the  new  house. 

"They're  beginning  to  assemble  in  your  honour, 
Doc,"  laughed  Gaston.  "Your  time  draws  nigh.  All 
we're  waiting  for  now  is  the  preacher." 

"Maybe  he  won't  come,"  insisted  the  doctor  hope- 
fully. "Maybe  we'll  have  to  put  it  off." 

They  sat  in  silence  for  a  while.  Again  Lonergan 
looked  at  his  watch. 

"Twenty  minutes  after  eleven,"  he  said.  "They'll 
be  here  now,  or  something's  happened." 

Gaston  and  the  railroad  builder  stepped  outside  and 
looked  down  the  street.  The  road  from  La  Croix 
ran  along  the  river ;  Hale  and  the  minister  would  have 
to  drive  through  the  river-front  when  they  came. 

"Not  in  sight  yet,"  said  Lonergan. 

"It's  a  warm  morning  for  fast  driving,"  said  Gas- 
ton.  "Hale's  a  sensible  man ;  he  won't  kill  his  horses, 
but  he'll  have  the  preacher  here  on  time." 

Lonergan  nodded.  The  river-front  as  they  looked 
at  it  was  deserted.  Not  a  man  was  in  sight,  and  no 
noise  came  from  the  open  doors. 

"Say !  They're  behaving  themselves  down  there  to- 
day, aren't  they?"  said  Lonergan. 

Gaston  did  not  reply.  His  eyes  suddenly  had  nar- 
rowed to  slits.  That  quiet  down  there  wasn't  natural. 
It  was  too  good  to  be  true.  Gaston's  quick  senses  had 
caught  the  unusual  silence  and  read  it  for  the  unnat- 
ural calm  that  is  prelude  to  a  storm. 

"It's  too  good,  Lonergan,"  he  began.  Then, 
"Hello!  There  they  come!" 

Hale's  buggy  had  swung  out  of  the  timber  and  was 


268  Gaston  Olaf 

approaching  the  river-front.  The  horses  were  trotting 
easily;  Gaston  could  make  out  the  pale  face  of  the 
minister  beside  Hale.  They  were  passing  the  first 
saloon  in  the  row  now.  And  then  the  peace  of  the 
river- front  was  broken. 

With  one  single  shout,  as  a  signal,  there  sprang 
from  each  side  of  the  street  a  dozen  men.  They 
caught  the  horses  by  the  head  ere  Hale  could  reach  his 
whip.  They  threw  themselves  onto  the  buggy. 

It  was  only  a  matter  of  seconds.  Then  the  fright- 
ened team  was  coming  up  the  street  on  the  jump, 
Hale  rolling  unconscious  on  the  seat,  and  the  men 
of  the  river-front  were  rushing  back  into  their  lowest 
dive,  bearing  the  struggling  figure  of  the  minister 
with  them. 

"God!"  cried  Lonergan. 

Gaston  uttered  no  sound.  He  threw  himself  upon 
the  maddened  horses  as  they  came  tearing  up,  and 
with  Lonergan's  help  soon  had  them  quieted. 

"Good  God!"  cried  the  men  as  they  came  running 
up. 

Gaston  said  not  a  word.  He  dropped  his  hold 
on  the  horses  the  instant  other  hands  came  to  help. 
He  looked  not  at  Hale,  who  lay  senseless  with  a  cut 
on  the  side  of  his  head;  he  paid  no  attention  to  the 
crowd  gathering  about  him.  With  one  tug  he  tore 
open  his  collar,  to  give  room  to  his  swelling  throat. 
He  was  panting  through  his  nose,  his  lips  closed. 

A  double-bitted  axe  leaned  against  the  doctor's 
cabin.  With  his  berserk  rage  venting  itself  in  one 
shrill  cry,  Gaston  seized  the  gleaming  tool  and  seemed 
to  fly  over  the  ground  straight  toward  the  door  of 
the  dive  where  the  minister  had  been  captured. 

"Good  God!  He's  going  alone!"  cried  a  young 
man  and,  empty-handed,  started  after  him;  he  was 
Erik,  the  boy  who  had  been  beaten  by  the  pugilist, 


Taggart  Strikes  269 

and  afterward  had  worked  in  Gaston's  crew  on  the 
right-of-way. 

"Come  back,  Thorson!"  cried  Lonergan. 

It  would  have  been  too  late,  even  if  Gaston  could 
have  been  halted  then. 

They  were  waiting  for  him  down  at  the  river-front. 
The  mind  that  had  directed  this  scheme  had  expected 
that  Gaston  would  be  in  the  van  of  those  to  rescue  the 
minister. 

"He's  gone!"  groaned  Lonergan. 

Gaston  was  passing  McCarthy's  old  place.  In  the 
doorway  appeared  the  bull-necked  Ulnick,  shot-gun 
in  hand.  He  laughed  as  he  deliberately  cocked  both 
barrels.  He  had  a  cigar  in  his  mouth;  his  face  was 
devilish  with  triumph  as  he  raised  the  gun  toward  his 
shoulder.  And  the  next  instant  he  lay  face  downward 
on  his  own  door-step,  shot  through  the  temples,  dead. 

Tom  Pine  had  not  remained  in  his  room  in  vain. 
He  had  not  been  able  to  save  the  minister;  that  had 
come  too  quickly,  too  unforeseen.  But  he  had  wit- 
nessed the  assault  on  the  buggy,  had  seen  the  minister 
borne  away,  and  he  knew  what  would  follow.  He 
had  seen  Gaston  go  flying  down  the  street,  and  his 
rifle  was  cocked  and  ready,  covering  the  river-front 
as  a  deer-hunter  covers  the  range  before  him  when 
the  game  is  about  to  jump. 

Ulnick's  was  the  first  menacing  figure  to  show  in 
any  doorway,  and  Tom  Pine  threw  down  on  him  and 
fired  with  the  sure,  easy  aim  of  the  old-timer. 

Before  Ulnick's  body  had  struck  the  ground,  Tom 
had  jacked  in  a  new  cartridge  and  fired  again.  A 
man  with  a  revolver  had  thrust  his  head  out  of  the 
dance-hall,  and  Tom's  bullet  passed  through  his  jaw 
and  splintered  a  window. 

Then  crack,  crack,  crack !  The  river-front  suddenly 
had  a  bath  of  lead.  Into  every  door  Tom  sent  his 


270  Gaston  Olaf 

bullets,  the  shots  coming  so  rapidly  that  it  seemed  that 
several  men  must  be  firing.  Glass  flew  in  splinters. 
A  third  man,  sticking  his  head  out  of  a  door,  was 
down  on  the  floor,  a  bullet-hole  through  his  cheek. 
The  screams  of  the  two  wounded  men  supplemented 
the  rattle  of  shots  and  the  crash  of  glass. 

From  the  dance-hall  a  revolver  cracked.  The  bul- 
let flew  past  Gaston's  head.  Behind  him  Erik  grunted 
in  surprised  fashion  and  sank  down  with  his  hands  held 
to  his  breast. 

Tom  riddled  the  dance-hall  in  reply.  Shrieks  and 
curses  came  forth,  but  no  more  shots. 

The  river-front  was  a  pandemonium.  Women  be- 
gan to  leave  their  dives  and  run  for  the  woods.  Not 
a  man  showed  himself.  Suddenly  the  minister  came 
rolling  out  of  the  dive  into  the  street,  thrown  out  by 
the  terrified  men  who  had  captured  him.  Their  plans 
had  gone  awry ;  the  terribly  accurate  shooting  of  Tom 
Pine  had  tamed  them ;  they  were  eager  to  do  anything 
that  might  stop  that  devilish  rain  of  lead. 

Gaston  stopped  before  the  dance-hall.  His  blood- 
rage  had  passed;  he  saw  things  clearly.  In  the  fight 
which  must  ensue,  if  he  rushed  the  dance-hall,  the  min- 
ister would  surely  get  hurt ;  possibly  be  killed,  and  the 
wedding  would  have  to  be  postponed.  He  looked 
through  the  bullet-shattered  door.  What  he  saw  in- 
side there  caused  him  to  pick  the  minister  up  under 
one  arm  and  deliberately  turn  back.  Behind  him  Tom's 
bullets  ripped  the  doors  of  the  hall  to  splinters. 

A  crowd  was  coming  to  help  by  this  time.  Men 
had  reached  Erik  and  were  carrying  him  away. 

"Get  back,  boys!"  roared  Gaston.  "Get  back  and 
get  ready.  We're  going  down  there  again,  but  we're 
going  to  be  ready  for  them  when  we  do." 

He  put  the  minister  down  and  pleaded  and  fought 
with  the  crowd,  and  turned  it  back. 


Taggart  Strikes  271 

"Back,  boys!  Get  to  cover!  We've  got  the  minis- 
ter now;  the  wedding  needn't  be  delayed.  And  we'll 
get  'em  down  there  when  we're  ready." 

In  a  few  seconds  he  had  prevailed.  The  minister 
had  been  rushed  into  the  hotel ;  Erik,  sorely  wounded, 
was  lying  in  the  doctor's  office;  and  Gaston  himself 
had  shown  an  example  and  was  safely  behind  cover. 

Up  in  his  room  Torn  Pine  sighed  with  relief.  It 
was  about  time.  He  had  kept  the  river-front  indoors, 
but  now  both  rifles  were  empty. 


CHAPTER  XU 

THE  END  OF  DEVIL  DAVE 

THE  quiet  that  settled  suddenly  down  upon  the 
settlement  then  was  terrible.  It  lay  like  a  pall 
in  the  air,  snuffing  out  the  life  and  gaiety  that  had 
prevailed  a  moment  before.  Men  moved  about  silent- 
ly, their  eyes  hard.  A  child  cried  suddenly  some  place, 
a  door  slammed ;  then  it  was  still  again. 

Men  looked  at  each  other  and  parted  without  a  word. 
They  gathered  their  women  and  children  from  the 
street,  from  about  the  hotel,  the  dance-floor  and  the 
doctor's  new  house,  and  grimly  carried  them  to  their 
homes. 

"Stay  indoors,"  they  said,  and  returned  to  the  crowd 
gathered  in  the  shelter  of  the  doctor's  office. 

No  time  this  for  the  women  to  wail  and  plead  against 
rash  action.  It  had  gone  beyond  that.  The  women 
looked  at  their  men's  faces  and  cowered  in  their  homes, 
white-faced  but  silent. 

"Men!"  cried  the  minister,  aghast.  "What  is  this 
you  plan  to  do?" 

"That's  all  right,  Reverend;  see  you  later,"  they 
said,  and  locked  him  safe  out  of  harm's  way  in  the 
hotel. 

Behind  the  doctor's  office  the  friends  of  Erik,  men 
formerly  of  Crew  One,  who  now  were  in  Lonergan's 
employ,  had  armed  themselves  to  the  last  man  and  were 
insisting  that  although  Erik,  on  the  doctor's  word, 
would  live,  it  was  their  blood-right  to  lead  the  attack 
on  the  river-front.  Opposed  to  them  were  the  men  of 
the  settlement. 

272 


The  End  of  Devil  Dave        273 

"It's  our  town  that's  been  given  a  bad  name," 
they  said.  "We've  got  the  right  to  go  down  there 
first." 

Gaston  fought  steadily  to  hold  both  factions  back. 
He  realised  that  the  clash  was  inevitable;  but  now, 
that  his  rage  had  vented  itself,  he  was  clear-headed 
and  cool.  If  the  crowd  in  its  present  mood  struck 
the  river-front,  whose  men  it  outnumbered,  the  result 
must  be  a  slaughter.  Nothing  could  stay  Erik's  friends 
from  taking  vengeance,  and  if  a  fight  were  thus  started, 
the  gangsters  would  fight  back  and  good  men  surely 
would  be  killed.  As  furiously  as  he  had  rushed  to  the 
attack,  Gaston  now  struggled  to  delay  the  conflict  until 
the  men  had  grown  cooler. 

"The  doc's  wedding  is  set  for  twelve,"  he  shouted. 
"Are  we  going  to  spoil  that  for  him?  Let's  have 
the  wedding  first,  then  go  down  and  clean  them  up." 

A  low  growl  greeted  his  words.  He  knew  they 
would  not  acquiesce,  but  it  was  anything  for  a  delay. 

"No  time  for  weddings,"  came  back  the  reply. 
"Let's  be  going." 

"No!"  cried  Gaston.  "You'll  wait  a  while.  This 
thing  has  got  to  be  done  orderly.  Do  you  want  to 
give  yourselves  as  bad  a  name  as  those  Hunyaks?" 

"We  want  to  give  ourselves  such  a  name  that  no 
toughs  will  ever  again  try  anything  like  this  in  our 
town,"  replied  Perkins. 

"Good!  That's  just  it.  And  we're  going  to  do  it 
according  to  law  and  order,  not  like  a  lot  of  toughs 
on  a  spree." 

That  struck  home  with  the  older  men. 

"That's  right,"  they  said.  Others  growled:  "Spit 
out  what  you've  got  to  say,  and  let's  get  started." 

"Lonergan,"  shouted  Gaston,  "can  that  old  Polander 
of  yours  go  down  among  those  fellows  in  safety?" 

"Yes.    Why?" 


274  Gaston  Olaf 

"I'm  going  to  serve  notice  on  every  man  and  woman 
in  the  river-front  to  clear  out  within  an  hour." 

"Hour,  !"  came  an  interruption.  "Ten  minutes 

is  plenty." 

"Make  it  five!"  cried  others. 

He  compromised  with  them.  It  was  then  a  quarter 
to  twelve. 

"We'll  make  it  half  an  hour,"  said  he,  realising  that 
he  could  hold  them  no  longer.  "That  will  give  'em 
until  a  quarter  past  twelve." 

"Good  enough." 

Paper  and  pencil  were  brought,  and  with  a  board 
for  desk  Gaston  set  to  work  to  draft  his  notice.  After 
scores  of  suggestions  from  the  crowd  he  wrote  as 
follows : 

To  ALL  PEOPLE  IN  THE  RIVER-FRONT : 

This  is  to  notify  you  that  you  have  thirty  minutes  to  get  out 
of  town.  We  are  coming  down  to  get  you  at  12  '.15.  Leave  before 
then,  or  God  help  you ! 

THORSON, 
Marshal  of  Havens  Falls. 

"That's  the  style;  that's  doing  it  in  bang-up  fash- 
ion," was  the  verdict  of  the  men  who  read  over  his 
shoulder. 

Lonergan's  old  Polander  took  the  note  and  his  di- 
rections stolidly. 

"If  they  can't  read,  translate  it  for  them,"  said 
Gaston. 

"Awri',  bahss!" 

The  old  man  sallied  forth  on  his  mission.  They 
watched  him  as  he  went.  How  would  the  toughs  re- 
ceive the  note  ?  They  saw  the  old  man  enter  Ulnick's 
place,  where  Ulnick's  body  had  been  dragged  inside, 
the  paper  held  in  his  hand.  After  a  few  minutes  he 
came  out,  crossed  the  street  and  entered  another  sa- 
loon, still  bearing  the  paper. 


The  End  of  Devil  Dave        275 

Not  a  sound  came  up  to  the  watchers.  As  he 
emerged  from  the  second  place  a  man  came  timidly 
out  of  the  dance-hall  and  called  to  the  messenger  in 
Polish.  The  old  man  spoke  rapidly,  handing  the  man 
the  notice.  The  latter  tossed  it  into  the  dance-hall  and 
without  a  word  ran  for  the  river  road.  From  Ul- 
nick's  some  one  shouted  at  the  old  man.  He 
held  up  his  hand  and  came  back  to  the  doctor's 
office. 

"They  say,  can  they  go  and  you  no  shoot  'em,  hah  ?" 
he  said. 

A  sigh  of  relief  escaped  Gaston. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "Tell  them  no  one  will  be  hurt 
before  a  quarter  past  twelve." 

"Hold  on!"  cried  Erik's  friends.  "That  don't  go 
with  us.  These  guys  may  all  duck  out.  We  won't 
stand  by  and  see  that;  we  want  to  play  a  little  with 
the  fellow  who  shot  Erik." 

"You  bet!  None  of  that  letting  'em  go.  Let's 
go  down  and  make  'em  give  him  up  right  now." 

Gaston  held  up  his  hand. 

"Boys,  I  promise  you  you'll  get  the  man  who  shot 
Erik." 

"He's  in  that  dance-hall,"  they  protested.  "He'll 
get  away  with  the  rest." 

"He's  in  that  dance-hall,"  agreed  Gaston,  "but  he 
won't  get  away  with  the  rest.  I  promise  you  that." 

"Did  you  see  him?" 

"I  saw  him.  And  if  he  comes  out,  I  promise  you, 
I'll  be  the  first  to  go  down  and  get  him." 

"All  right,  Thorson.     But  that's  got  to  be  good." 

"It'll  be  good,"  said  Gaston,  and  sent  the  messen- 
ger on  his  way. 

There  was  a  short  lull  after  the  old  man  had  de- 
livered his  message.  Then  the  exodus  began.  Like 
rats,  the  denizens  of  the  places  of  vice  came  slinking 


276  Gaston  Olaf 

out  in  the  sunlight.  They  hugged  the  walls,  casting 
fearful  looks  over  their  shoulders.  They  saw  Ul- 
nick's  body  lying  on  the  saloon  floor,  saw  the  broken 
windows,  splintered  doors,  and  bullet-marks,  and  they 
ran. 

The  two  wounded  men  called  pleadingly  for  assis- 
tance, but  no  one  heard.  Five  minutes  before  the 
time-limit  had  elapsed,  the  last  woman  to  leave  the 
dives  had  gone  from  the  river-front  and  was  following 
the  long,  straggling  line  hurrying  down  the  river  road, 
the  last  of  the  forces  of  vileness  to  leave  Havens 
Falls. 

"And  the  man  who  shot  Erik  wasn't  among  'em," 
said  Gaston. 

"You  sure?"  Erik's  friends  were  suspicious.  "You 
ain't  trying  to  play  with  us,  Thorson?" 

"Sure  not,  boys;  he's  still  in  the  dance-hall." 

"We'll  go  and  see." 

"You  will,"  agreed  Gaston  icily,  "when  it's  twelve- 
fifteen." 

By  sheer  force  of  will  he  held  them.  They  fidgeted 
angrily,  like  dogs  in  the  leash  with  their  quarry  be- 
fore them.  The  minutes  dragged  painfully.  Two 
minutes  remained.  Then  one  minute. 

"Come  on,"  said  a  youngster,  "that's  close  'nough." 

Gaston  held  him  back. 

Presently  Lonergan  snapped  his  watch  shut  and 
nodded. 

"Come  along,  boys,"  said  Gaston  quietly. 

They  followed  down  the  street  in  uncanny  silence, 
crowding  closely  about  him  as  he  led  the  way  to  the 
dance-hall.  The  door  was  open  and  they  could  see 
inside.  They  first  saw  the  man  whom  Tom  Pine  had 
shot  through  the  jaw.  He  was  sitting  on  the  floor, 
leaning  drunkenly  against  the  wall. 

Then  they  saw  the  other  man.     He  was  lolling  in 


The  End  of  Devil  Dave        277 

a  chair  against  the  bar,  grinning  in  ghastly  fashion 
at  the  poor  fellow  on  the  floor.  His  eyes  were  pop- 
ping from  his  head ;  his  jaw  sagged  weakly ;  his  tongue 
hung  out ;  his  long  arms  drooped  down  nervelessly. 
At  his  feet  a  big  revolver  lay  where  it  had  dropped 
from  his  fingers. 

It  was  what  was  left  of  Devil  Dave  Taggart. 

The  crowd  halted  at  the  doorway,  aghast  at  the 
demoniacal  transformation  before  them.  Gaston  en- 
tered alone.  Taggart  neither  saw  nor  heard;  his  at- 
tention was  all  for  the  man  on  the  floor. 

"Taggart!"  shouted  Gaston,  putting  a  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

Taggart  looked  up  slowly,  no  gleam  of  intelligence 
in  his  blood-shot  eyes.  In  spite  of  his  enmity  for  the 
man,  Gaston  felt  a  twinge  of  pity.  He  picked  up  the 
revolver. 

"Taggart!    Get  up!" 

With  his  left  arm  he  raised  him  to  his  feet.  Tag- 
gart waved  a  hand  at  the  wounded  man  and  laughed 
slobberingly. 

"Funny  face,"  he  whispered.     "Look  at's  face." 

"Come  along,"  said  Gaston. 

With  the  revolver  in  his  right  hand  he  led  the  way 
out. 

"Boys,"  he  said  coldly,  "you  can't  have  him — not 
now.  If  he'd  put  up  a  fight  it  would  have  been  dif- 
ferent. Now  I'm  going  to  take  him  down  to  his  office 
and  lock  him  up.  Out  of  the  way!" 

He  went  straight  through  them;  they  stood  back 
and  let  him  pass  without  a  word.  Then  they  fol- 
lowed as  Gaston  led  his  prisoner  toward  the  office  on 
the  river  bank. 

Taggart  went  along  in  a  stupor  at  first.  He  did 
not  recognise  Gaston,  did  not  sense  what  was  happen- 
ing. As  they  approached  the  river,  however,  his  eves 


278  Gaston  Olaf 

seemed  to  clear.  At  the  sight  of  his  own  office  he 
stopped  suddenly. 

"Come  on,   Taggart,"   said   Gaston. 

Taggart  looked  around  wildly.  He  saw  the  river 
a  few  steps  away,  saw  the  crowd  behind  them,  and 
lastly  he  saw  Gaston.  As  if  in  a  flash  of  lightning  he 
understood.  With  a  cry  like  a  wounded  animal  he 
tore  loose.  He  stood  up  straight  and  stiff,  himself 
for  an  instant,  his  eyes  upon  the  man  who  had  torn 
his  evil  hold  from  Havens  Falls. 

"Thorson,  you  !"  he  screamed,  and  dove  for- 
ward. 

His  arms  caught  Gaston  and  held  him  helpless. 
The  strength  of  a  maniac's  was  Taggart's  for  that  mo- 
ment. Down  in  the  sawdust  they  fell,  tightly  clinched. 
Twice  they  rolled  over  and  over.  Taggart's  mad 
laugh  rang  loud  to  the  heavens;  and  then  they  rolled 
over  again  and,  still  locked  together,  dropped  into  the 
river. 

The  water  was  deep  and  still  where  they  fell  in. 
The  current  closed  over  them  and  swept  on  its  way 
again,  serene,  undisturbed,  while  the  crowd  lined  the 
bank,  silent,  helpless.  The  seconds  seemed  hours. 
Many  of  them  passed,  and  still  the  swift,  black  waters 
rushed  on  unbroken. 

Men  panted  open-mouthed.  They  groaned  in  agony 
as  air-bubbles  broke  the  surface.  And  then  they 
shouted  once,  sharply.  Gaston  came  popping  out  of 
the  water  like  a  cork,  gasped  hungrily  at  the  air,  and 
came  swimming  weakly  back  to  shore — alone. 

A  few  more  bubbles  appeared  farther  down-stream. 
Then  the  black  water  once  more  was  slipping  on  its 
way,  calm  and  beautiful  as  ever,  with  no  hint  on  its 
surface  of  the  thing  that  was  hidden  in  its  depths. 

Gaston  stood  dripping  and  panting  on  the  river 
bank.  He  looked  at  the  water  from  which  he  had 


The  End  of  Devil  Dave        279 

so  narrowly  escaped.    And  he  turned  and  went  up  the 
street  without  a  word. 

"Men,  men !"  said  the  minister,  when  released  from 
the  hotel.  "What  have  you  done?  You  bade  me  to 
come  among  you  to  join  two  of  your  young  people 
in  a  new  life,  and  you  make  the  day  one  of  strife  and 
bloodshed." 

Postmaster  Perkins  bared  his  silvery  head  rever- 
ently. 

"The  Lord  giveth  and  the  Lord  taketh  away; 
blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord!"  rose  his  aged 
treble.  "Reverend,  what  we  done  had  to  be  done. 
There  was  a  jam,  and  she  had  to  be  broke  so  decent 
people  could  live  here,  and  fellows  like  you  could  come 
through  the  white  water  and  bring  light  into  the  wil- 
derness. The  Lord  took  the  bad  people  away.  He 
giveth  us  young  people,  like  Hulda  Olson  and  Doc 
Sanders,  to  marry  and  have  children,  and  people  the 
land.  The  old  order  changeth,  Reverend;  the  wick- 
edness has  gone  from  Havens  Falls  for  good.  The 
new  order  cometh,  and  it's  full  of  hope  and  promise; 
and  the  Lord  looks  upon  his  work  and  finds  it  good. 
Reverend,  we  ain't  in  no  mood  to  hold  the  celebration 
we  planned,  but  in  this  dark  moment  we  need  that 
wedding  to  help  us  look  toward  the  future." 

"Yes,"  said  Hulda,  firmly.  "Ve  skall  get  married 
yoost  the  same." 

So  the  doctor  and  Hulda  were  married — with  a 
silent  crowd  of  witnesses  where  hilarity  had  been 
planned.  And  after  the  ceremony  the  minister  prayed, 
not  only  for  the  happiness  of  the  newly  wedded 
couple,  but  for  the  future  of  the  town,  that  the  men 
thereof  might  turn  from  violence  to  gentleness 
toward  all  their  kind,  forgive  their  enemies,  patiently 
turn  the  other  cheek 


280  Gaston  Olaf 

Gaston  looked  sharply  across  at  Rose.  She  had 
lifted  her  eyes  to  him  in  the  same  moment. 

" — Live  their  lives  soberly  and  earnestly " 

Her  eyes  dropped. 

" — God-fearing  and  useful  citizens,  priding  them- 
selves not  upon  their  strength " 

Rose  raised  her  eyes  to  Hale's  bowed  head. 

"—Amen!" 


CHAPTER    XLI 

DAYS    OF    QUIET 

PEACE  had  come  at  last  to  Havens  Falls,  the  deep, 
abiding  peace  of  a  community  solemnly  conse- 
crated to  law  and  order.  The  tragic  manner  of  its 
coming  had  left  its  mark;  Havens  Falls  was  not  likely 
to  forget  what  the  river-front  had  meant  to  it;  it 
would  never  again  run  the  risk  of  similar  conditions. 
Before  the  traces  of  the  last  cruel  struggle  had  been 
removed,  a  solemn  mass-meeting  was  held  before  Ol- 
son's Hotel. 

"It  was  whisky  that  did  it,  boys — whisky,  and 
wickedness,  and  hell-raising,"  quavered  old  Perkins. 
"Touch  and  go,  it  was,  boys ;  and  we  happened  to  win 
because  a  man  came  to  town  who  was  big  enough  to 
make  us  strong.  We  were  a  helpless  little  hell-hole 
here  in  the  woods  before  he  came  to  town.  Now 
we're  clean,  thank  God !  As  clean  as  the  timber  around 
us.  Boys,  are  we  going  to  risk  getting  in  another 
gang  like  what  we  had?  Are  we  going  to  have  an- 
other river-front  ?  Or  are  we  going  to  have  a  decent 
town  that  will  grow  and  be  a  credit  to  the  men  who 
made  it?" 

"A  decent  town — that's  the  ticket!"  came  the  re- 
sponses. "We've  had  enough  of  the  other  thing. 
What  do  you  say,  Thorson?" 

Gaston  looked  down  toward  the  river-front.  For 
the  time  being  he  was  as  serious-minded  as  any  man 
in  the  crowd.  He  saw  not  the  glitter  and  excitement 
of  the  front,  but  only  its  sordid  vileness,  its  menace 

281 


282  Gaston  Olaf 

to  a  community  of  homes,  of  families,  of  women  and 
children. 

"I  say,"  he  began  slowly,  and  paused  as  a  vision 
grew  before  his  eyes,  "I  say  we  ought  to  burn  the 
river- front  to  the  ground,  and  scatter  the  ashes,  and 
build  new  buildings  where  it  stands,  so  there'd  be 
nothing  left  to  remind  us  of  what  was  there  or  what 
happened  before  it  was  cleaned  up." 

They  voted  on  it,  a  vote  of  hands,  and  even  the 
wild  youngsters  working  for  Lonergan  voted,  "Ay." 
So  the  river-front  was  burned  one  afternoon  when 
there  was  no  wind,  burned  until  its  last  trace  of  wick- 
edness had  been  purged  by  fire;  and  in  the  evening, 
before  the  last  red  coals  had  died  to  ashes,  the  set- 
tlers had  decided  to  build  their  first  schoolhouse  where 
the  old  dance-hall  had  stood,  and  to  do  it  at  once,  so 
the  children  would  have  a  place  ready  for  them  when 
the  school  season  opened  in  the  Fall. 

"And  now  that's  done,"  said  Gaston.  "The  river- 
front is  gone;  the  town  starts  new,  with  nothing  to 
make  trouble  for  it  or  keep  it  from  having  clean 
hands.  Taggart's  gone;  so  I  start  fresh,  too,  and 
there's  nothing  left  here  to  stir  the  hell  up  in  me,  or 
get  me  to  fighting,  or  keep  me  from  living  quiet,  re- 
spectable, and  settled." 

Tom  Pine  coughed  in  a  suspicious  manner.  A 
coroner's  jury  having  decided  that  Ulnick's  death  was 
"an  act  of  God,"  Tom  had  a  rather  improved  opinion 
of  himself.  He  and  Gaston  were  sitting,  chair-tilted, 
against  the  front  of  Dr.  Sanders's  old  office.  They 
had  moved  into  the  building  immediately  after  the 
doctor  had  vacated,  Gaston  having  declared  that  it 
was  time  they  began  to  practise  living  in  a  home  of 
their  own.  Tom  Pine  had  acquiesced  eagerly;  there 
was  more  freedom  in  "baching  it"  than  in  living  at 
the  hotel. 


Days  of  Quiet  283 

"No-o-o,"  drawled  Tom,  "there's  nothing  left  here 
to  stir  a  fellow  up,  that's  sure." 

"And  that's  just  how  we  want  it,"  said  Gaston. 
"Everything  nice  and  orderly,  and  nothing  to  keep  a 
man  from  being  a  steady-going  citizen!" 

"Except  himself." 

"Eh?" 

"Except  himself,"  repeated  Tom.  "If  a  man  ain't 
made  to  be  a  steady-going  citizen,  well,  it  don't  make 
any  difference  where  you  set  him  down,  Gaston  Olaf, 
he  ain't  going  to  be  one,  that's  all.  Some  folks  are 
made  to  live  in  houses  and  use  the  same  bed  all  their 
lives;  others  ain't.  I  won't  say  any  more  than  that." 

"No  need  to  say  any  more,"  said  Gaston.  "You 
mean  that  I'm  one  of  those  who' re  not  made  to  settle 
down." 

Tom  Pine  shook  his  old  head. 

"You  can't  make  a  canary-bird  or  a  barnyard  fowl 
out  of  an  eagle,"  said  he.  "There  ain't  any  chance 
for  argument  about  that — that's  nature." 

Gaston  chuckled. 

"You're  a  hard  one  for  sure,  Tom  Pine.  Have 
you  seen  any  canary-bird  work  around  this  settle- 
ment?" 

"Not  so  far.  It's  been  a  nice,  busy  place  for  a 
he-man  to  camp  in  up  to  now,  I  admit  you  that.  But 
that  was  because  Taggart  and  the  river-front  were 
here  and  it  was  hell-for-leather  between  them  and 
us. 

"But  they're  gone  now,  Gaston  Olaf ;  those  days 
are  past.  This  town's  pretty  near  got  religion,  and 
it's  going  to  stay  that  way.  What  then?  Day  after 
day  the  same  thing,  week  after  week,  and  year  after 
year,  with  nothing  happening  for  excitement.  Could 
folks  like  you'n  me  stand  it,  Gaston?" 

The  picture  unveiled  itself  swiftly  to  Gaston.     He 


284  Gaston  Olaf 

saw  the  neat,  proper  town  that  Havens  Falls  was 
destined  to  be — day  after  day,  year  after  year  of  it. 
He  felt  crowded,  confined.  But  there  was  Rose,  and 
the  dream. 

"You  quit  that  kind  of  talk,  Tom  Pine,"  he  com- 
manded gruffly.  "I  don't  know  about  you,  but  I  do 
know  that  I  want  to  settle  down." 

He  went  back  to  work  for  Lonergan.  That  was 
the  thing  for  him  to  do — break  himself  in  at  steady, 
every-day  work. 

His  experience  in  the  woods  and  his  natural  lead- 
ership of  men  made  him  an  invaluable  aid  to  the  rail- 
road man.  With  him  at  its  head  the  clearing-crew 
slashed  its  way  through  the  timber  in  record  time. 

After  the  clearing  came  the  grading  and  filling.  Day 
after  day,  week  after  week,  Gaston  stuck  to  his  task. 
The  short,  hot  Summer  of  the  Northland  was  on,  and 
along  the  line  swarms  of  mosquitoes,  deer-flies  and 
"no-see-um's"  made  life  miserable.  Men  threw  down 
their  tools  and  demanded  their  time.  Lonergan  even 
suggested  a  lay-off  for  a  week. 

"Not  for  a  day,"  said  Gaston  stubbornly. 

He  was  beginning  to  hear  the  whisperings  of  doubt 
within  himself.  The  clear  lakes,  the  rivers,  the  un- 
tracked  woods  had  begun  to  call.  The  lure  of  strange 
trails  and  adventures  new  had  whispered  to  his  rest- 
less spirit. 

He  put  temptation  away  savagely.  Not  a  single 
day  would  he  yield  in  the  programme  he  had  mapped 
out  for  himself.  For  it  was  in  the  moments  of  idle- 
ness that  the  call  made  itself  heard. 

"You're  getting  kind  of  peekid-looking,  Gaston 
Olaf,"  warned  Tom  Pine. 

"I  know  it,"  admitted  Gaston.  His  shaving-mir- 
ror had  showed  him  the  new  lines  gathering  between 
the  eyebrows  and  about  the  mouth. 


Days  of  Quiet  285 

The  quiet,  lazy  Sundays  came  to  be  long  and  tire- 
some. He  seldom  sought  Rose's  company  since  their 
conversation  at  the  house-building,  and  save  for 
thoughts  of  her,  he  admitted  to  himself,  town-life  was 
irksome. 

Hale,  likewise,  spent  less  time  at  the  Havens  home 
than  previously.  He  was  not  given  to  intruding  him- 
self where  he  was  not  sure  that  he  was  wanted. 

The  settlement  developed  rapidly.  Taggart's  prop- 
erty had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  a  far-away  niece, 
and  the  lumber  company  to  which  she  sold  promptly 
put  the  cutover  land  on  the  market,  induced  settlers  to 
come  in,  and  began  to  assist  in  all  ways  to  build  up 
the  country. 

"When  the  railroad  gets  through,  this  country  will 
crowd  up  right  away,"  mused  Gaston,  as  he  read  the 
signs. 

He  reproved  himself  promptly  for  such  thoughts. 
Was  it  not  for  this  that  he  had  worked  and  risked 
his  life? 

The  heat  of  the  Summer  passed,  and  the  time  for 
the  first  frosts  drew  near.  Instead  of  the  ring  of  the 
axes  of  the  clearing-crew  there  now  rang  out  along 
the  right-of-way  the  clang  of  spiking  hammers  fasten- 
ing the  steel  rails  to  the  new-laid  ties.  Instead  of 
teams  bearing  loads  of  ties,  a  small  locomotive  came 
tooting  slowly  toward  Havens  Falls,  pushing  before 
it  flat-car  loads  of  the  rails  that  the  crews  were  laying. 

Day  by  day  the  twin  lines  of  steel  crept  northward 
toward  the  settlement,  and  day  by  day,  as  he  led  his 
crew,  Gaston  sensed  how  completely  the  humdrum  of 
civilisation  would  conquer  the  country  when  the  rail- 
road began  operations.  The  toot  of  the  locomotive 
in  the  timber  was  a  warning.  It  knelled  the  passing 
of  adventure  in  that  part  of  the  Big  Woods. 

Yet  Gaston  worked  steadily.     There  was  a  certain 


286  Gaston  Olaf 

thrill  in  the  building  of  the  railroad,  and  he  did  not 
permit  himself  to  think  of  the  days  to  come  after  the 
road  was  finished. 

The  first  frosts  came,  touching  the  birch  and  maple 
with  a  gentle  wand,  and  tinting  their  leaves  dainty 
pink  and  yellow.  The  air  was  like  rare  wine,  and  the 
woods  were  clamorous  with  the  chatter  of  birds  con- 
gregating for  the  long  flight  southward. 

In  the  morning,  while  trudging  to  work,  Gaston 
paused  and  with  his  eyes  followed  the  flight  of  mi- 
grating ducks  across  the  trackless  sky.  He  watched 
them  until  they  were  out  of  sight,  and  he  wondered 
what  new  scenes  they  would  view  before  they  sought 
rest  at  nightfall. 

The  whistle  of  the  locomotive  now  could  be  heard 
in  the  settlement.  Lonergan  had  added  more  men  to 
the  crews,  and  the  work  was  being  pushed  so  the  road 
would  be  completed  before  the  frost  settled  into  the 
ground.  Gaston  did  his  work  steadily  and  well,  but 
there  was  a  lack  of  buoyance  and  enthusiasm  in  him. 
He  now  looked  forward  to  the  end  of  the  work  with  a 
feeling  of  discomfort. 

The  woods  were  a  riot  of  colour  now.  Autumn  was 
in  the  Northland,  and  the  gods  of  the  glorious  Indian 
Summer  had  painted  the  world  with  a  lavish  brush. 
Deep  purple  and  burnt  umber,  blood-red  and  faintest 
yellow  ochre,  rioted  together  on  the  landscape;  and 
over  the  hills,  like  a  delicate  veil,  hung  the  Indian 
Summer's  faint,  blue  haze. 

With  less  than  a  week's  work  remaining  on  the  rail- 
road, there  came  to  the  settlement  a  rumour  of  a  silver 
strike  in  the  rough  barrens  far  to  the  north,  across 
the  line.  Daring,  adventurous  men  were  flocking 
thither,  said  rumour,  to  pit  their  strength  and  luck 
against  the  cruel  northern  Winter  and  crueler  men. 
The  men  working  on  the  railroad  leaned  on  their  tools 


Days  of  Quiet  287 

and  wondered  what  it  would  be  like  up  there.  Gaston 
heard  them  and  grimly  ordered  them  back  to  their 
tasks. 

That  night,  however,  he  paced  up  and  down  along 
the  river  until  far  into  the  morning,  and  his  palms 
were  raw  from  the  pressure  of  his  finger  nails. 


CHAPTER  XLII 
"THE  TRAIL,  THE  TRAIL!" 

THE  railroad  was  finished.     The  twin  streaks  of 
steel    had    reached    Havens    Falls,    binding    it 
closely  to  the  rest  of  the  great  civilised  world. 

The  finish  came  at  the  end  of  a  hard  day's  work. 
Remained  only  the  ceremony  of  driving  the  last  spike, 
which  was  to  be  performed  with  due  rites  and  celebra- 
tion in  the  morning,  and  the  first  train,  bearing  mails, 
freight  and  passengers,  would  come  tooting  its  way 
into  the  settlement.  The  big  job  was  done,  and  Ha- 
vens Falls  was  full  of  gaiety  that  night,  anxious  to 
make  of  the  morrow  a  big  gala-day  in  its  history. 

Gaston  was  not  gay.  He  was  the  last  man  of  the 
crew  to  leave  the  line.  He  left  reluctantly.  The 
job  was  done.  Havens  Falls  was  no  longer  a  stray, 
woods-settlement,  but  a  new  growing  town  on  a  rail- 
road. 

In  the  old  settlement  he  had  had  his  place.  He  had 
played  his  part  well.  But  what  place  did  he  have  in 
this  town,  where  people  were  talking  of  flour-mills  and 
potato-warehouses,  and  dreaming  of  paved  streets  and 
electric-lights  ? 

This  was  the  question  that  had  troubled  him  for  the 
last  weeks.  As  the  signs  of  the  town's  development 
increased  so  had  increased  Gaston's  sense  of  strange- 
ness and  confinement.  He  felt  cooped  up,  cramped, 
and  out  of  place.  He  had  tried  to  deny  it,  but  now 
he  was  forced  to  acknowledge  to  himself.  He  did 
not  belong. 

288 


"The  Trail,  the  Trail!"         289 

Stores  and  sidewalks,  plate-glass  windows,  regular 
hours,  electric-lights !  What  had  he  to  do  with  them ! 
He  had  come  to  Havens  Falls  and  had  found  a  part 
waiting  for  him  to  play.  But  now  his  part  had  been 
played;  never  again  would  the  settlement  have 
need  of  one  of  his  kind;  his  job  was  done;  he  was 
through. 

With  something  like  a  sigh  Gaston  turned  his  back 
on  the  line  and  came  through  the  cool,  early  darkness 
into  Havens  Falls. 

The  town  was  full  of  people,  on  hand  for  the  great 
event  of  the  morrow.  At  the  hotel  there  was  no  talk 
save  of  the  railroad  and  what  it  would  do  for  the 
country. 

In  the  midst  of  this  liveliness  Gaston  was  as  a 
stranger  at  a  feast.  He  retired  to  the  doctor's  old 
office  and  without  a  word  Tom  Pine  and  he  sat  down 
on  their  door-step,  each  busy  with  the  same  thought. 
Up  above  the  white  northern  stars  began  to  gleam 
through  the  darkness.  And  in  the  lull  the  cry  of  a 
lone  wolf  on  some  far-away  hill-top  came  floating  into 
the  town. 

"I  wonder,"  said  Tom  Pine  softly,  "I  wonder  what 
she's  like  up  there  where  they  say  they've  found  sil- 
ver?" 

The  words  fell  upon  Gaston's  troubled  spirit  like 
skilled  fingers  upon  the  strings  of  a  harp.  Eagerly  he 
began  to  talk.  The  little  town  fell  away  and  he  saw 
the  long,  rough  trail  through  the  great  rough  North, 
with  who  could  know  what  sort  of  adventures  at  its 
end! 

"She's  a  hard  piece  of  country  up  there  from  all  I 
hear,"  interjected  Tom  Pine,  "and  harder  than  Sam 
Hill  to  get  to." 

Pooh !  What  was  a  little  rough  country  ?  Did  any 
one  expect  to  find  metals  stored  up  beneath  city  side- 


290  Gaston  Olaf 

walks?  The  harder  the  better.  None  but  real  men 
could  win  in.  All  the  more  for  the  ones  who  were 
strong  enough  to  stand  the  going. 

Gaston  rose  and  stood  before  Tom  Pine,  gesticu- 
lating vehemently.  The  new  lines  had  gone  from  his 
face;  he  felt  as  if  a  burden  had  fallen  from  his  shoul- 
ders. Then  suddenly  he  thought  of  Rose  and  sat 
down. 

After  a  while  he  arose  and  went  slowly  up  toward 
the  Havens  home.  He  would  go  and  see  her.  He 
would  settle  it  one  way  or  another  that  night. 

Rose  was  working  on  something  white  when  he 
found  her,  and  though  she  hastily  dropped  it  into  her 
work-basket  at  his  coming  he  saw  that  it  was  a  gar- 
ment so  tiny  that  in  his  ignorance  he  fancied  it  must 
be  for  a  doll. 

"What's  that?"  he  asked.    "Making  a  doll  dress?" 

"Yes;  no,"  she  said,  tucking  her  work  out  of 
sight.  "That  is — Gaston,  you  mustn't  be  so  inquisi- 
tive." 

"Wha-a-at?"  Her  confusion  puzzled  him.  She 
was  actually  blushing.  "What's  there  about  a  doll's 
dress  that  you've  got  to  hide  it  from  me?" 

"Nothing,  absolutely  nothing.  What  do  you  care 
about  dolls'  clothes,  anyway?" 

"Then  why  don't  you  work  at  it?  Don't  let  me 
interfere." 

"It  isn't  polite  to  work  when  one's  entertaining 
company,"  she  bantered. 

"Go  on  and  work,"  he  laughed.  "I  like  to  see  you 
sewing." 

"Sewing!"  she  said  scornfully.  "Oh,  how  ignorant 
men  are!  I  wasn't  sewing  at  all;  that's  embroidery. 
It  will  take  weeks  and  weeks  to  finish  it." 

"Embroid ?" 


"The  Trail,  the  Trail!"         291 

"Gaston!"  He  had  playfully  reached  for  the  gar- 
ment. "Gaston!  Well,  I  never!" 

He  was  holding  the  tiny  thing  up  in  his  huge,  brown 
hands. 

"Embroidery?"  he  repeated,  looking  at  her,  and 
then  he  understood. 

"Oh,  oh,"  he  said  slowly,  and  carefully  replaced 
the  dress  in  the  basket.  "I'm  a  clod-hopper.  I  didn't 
understand;  I  wouldn't  have  said  a  word  or  touched 


"You're  as  curious  as  a  woman,"  she  said,  tucking 
the  garment  out  of  sight. 

"I  apologise;  you  know,  I  didn't  know." 

"I  know  it."     They  looked  at  one  another. 

"Who's  it  for?" 

"Hulda,  of  course.  Now  if  you  say  another  word, 
one  single  word,  I'll  be  real  angry." 

"Hulda?"  he  repeated.  "The  doc?  Well,  I'll  be 
darned!" 

"Stop  it!  Not  another  word."  Rose's  self-posses- 
sion had  returned.  "Tell  me,  who  is  going  to  drive 
the  last  spike  in  the  road  to-morrow  ?  I've  heard  that 
the  honour  is  to  be  given  you." 

He  answered  aimlessly.  His  thoughts  were  not 
with  the  road.  The  little  garment  had  spoken  to  him 
of  certain  things,  had  opened  his  eyes  to  tender  re- 
sponsibilities of  marriage.  And  at  last  he  was  quite 
sure  of  himself  —  quite  sure  that  he  had  no  right  to  try 
to  realise  his  dream.  For  whatever  happened,  he 
must  not  run  the  risk  of  making  her  unhappy. 

"I'm  going  away,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand. 

"I  thought  so,"  she  said,  and  he  was  glad  she 
smiled.  "I've  seen  it  coming  on  you." 

They  shook  hands  warmly. 

"Are  you  going  away  for  good  ?"  she  asked. 

He  studied  a  moment  before  replying.     She  would 


292  Gaston  Olaf 

have  Hale  now,  Hale,  the  steady  and  responsible.  She 
would  be  happy. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "thank  God,  it  is  for  good." 

Outside,  beneath  the  clear  white  stars,  he  breathed 
to  the  bottom  of  his  lungs.  He  had  done  it.  With  a 
smiling  face  he  had  done  it.  And  though  the  pain  in 
his  heart  was  like  a  sharp  knife  he  had  the  peace 
of  mind  which  told  him  he  had  done  what  was — 
square. 

Down  the  street  he  met  the  doctor. 

"You  old  son-of-a-gun,  you,  doc!"  he  chuckled,  and 
smote  him  boyishly  on  the  back. 

He  found  Hale  in  his  store. 

"Hale,"  said  he  sternly,  "you're  a  darn  fool. 
There's  a  girl  up  the  street  waiting  for  you  and  you 
stick  down  here  and  grouch  by  yourself.  How  d'you 
expect  to  win  Rose  if  you  don't  go  after  her?  I  know 
— I  know  what  you're  going  to  say.  Staying  away 
on  my  account.  Well,  that  needn't  bother  you  any 
more.  I'm  going  away.  Going  to  stay  away.  And 
if  you  don't  go  up  there  to-night  and  get  down  to 
business  I'll — I'll  change  my  opinion  of  you.  Will 
you  do  it?" 

"But,  Thorson- 

"But,  nothing !     Say  you'll  do  it." 

"I  will." 

"Skookum!     Shake  hands." 

He  went  out  of  the  store  like  a  gust  of  wind,  hum- 
ming. 

When  he  entered  the  doctor's  old  office  some  time 
later  he  bore  two  blanket  packs,  stuffed  and  strapped, 
ready  for  the  trail.  Tom  Pine  was  asleep.  Gaston 
dug  out  his  old  woods-clothes  and  noiselessly  made  a 
complete  change.  Arrayed  as  he  was  when  he  had 
come  to  the  settlement — soft,  rubber  shoes,  buckskin 
trousers,  muskrat  cap,  blue  shirt  and  silken  sash— 


uThe  Trail,  the  Trail!"         293 

he  sat  down  for  a  moment  at  the  doctor's  old 
table. 

His  light-heartedness  left  him.  He  folded  his  arms 
on  the  table  and  laid  his  head  upon  them.  He  had 
done  what  was  square.  But  it  was  hard.  Oh,  it  was 
hard. 

The  picture  of  Rose  as  he  had  last  seen  her,  with 
the  tiny  white  garment  in  her  hands — the  picture  he 
would  carry  away  with  him — came  before  his  eyes, 
and  he  raised  his  head  slowly.  There  was  a  strange 
wistful  smile  upon  his  bronzed  face. 

The  thoughts  of  little  children  came  to  him.  His 
great  arms  curved  hungrily  on  the  table.  Flesh  of  his 
flesh,  bone  of  his  bone.  Was  he  never  to  know  what 
that  meant?  The  home,  the  wife,  the  children;  the 
Trinity  that  makes  the  world.  He  hungered  for  them 
then,  with  the  strong  man's  hunger,  which  the  weak- 
ling never  knows. 

But  he  knew  now  that  these  were  not  for  him.  His 
was  the  lot  of  the  roamer.  For  him  the  open  trail  be- 
neath untrammelled  stars,  the  life  of  abrupt  change 
and  excitement,  the  lone  but  thrilling  way  of  the  born 
adventurer. 

Foot-loose  and  free.  It  had  to  be  so.  It  could  not 
be  anything  else.  For  he  knew  now  that  no  ties  could 
hold  him  when  the  go-gods  called. 

"Tom !"  he  called  softly. 

His  old  partner  leaped  up,  wide  awake.  Gaston 
was  standing  by  the  bunk-side,  the  pack  on  his 
shoulders,  rifle  in  hand,  ready. 

"Come  on,  Tom;  there's  your  pack.  The  moon's 
up;  we're  going  to  travel." 

Up  on  the  crest  of  the  ridge  where  they  had  stood 
when  they  first  saw  the  town,  they  paused  and  looked 
back.  The  lights  of  the  settlement  gleamed  like  pin- 
pricks in  the  darkness.  One  light  gleamed  particu- 


294  Gaston  Olaf 

larly  bright.  Gaston  looked  at  it  a  long  time  before 
turning  his  back.  Then  he  threw  up  his  head  and 
laughed,  his  right  arm  pointing  northward. 

"The  trail,  Tom  Pine,  the  trail !"  he  cried.    "Hit  the 
trail  I" 


THE  END 


A     000130082     1 


